


I Love To Be The Underdog

by CaptainnAustralia



Series: Early Morning Take Me Over [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF!Stiles, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainnAustralia/pseuds/CaptainnAustralia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of these days Stiles was going to learn that having a death wish was a bad thing. </p><p>=OR= </p><p>Five times Stiles got into an argument on Derek's behalf, and the one time he didn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MajorAccent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorAccent/gifts), [intergalacticju](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalacticju/gifts).



> Dedicated to Ju, because Ju is so goddamn cute it's impossible to put up with, and to Lana who read this first and decided it didn't suck. 
> 
> Title from Imagine Dragons 'Underdog'
> 
> UPDATE: THERE IS NOW A PODFIC OF THIS BY THE BEAUTIFUL AND LOVELY AAETH. DOWNLOAD/LISTEN TO IT [HERE](http://amplificathon.livejournal.com/1772268.html)  
> 

One of these days Stiles was going to learn that having a death wish was a bad thing.

Like, last week he had tried to drag Scott out into the forest to look for half a dead body and Scott, being the asshole that he is, _refused_. Stiles even did the pouty lip puppy eyes thing.

The pouty lip puppy eyes thing _always_ works with Scott.

Not this time thought. This time he got a big fat no.

Nothing.

Nada.

Zip.

Zilch.

Nope.

Want it in Spanish? NO.

He needed better friends.

Anyway, after he’d admitted defeat, (because as much as he was a fool he wasn’t an idiot – going into the forest COMPLETELY ALONE with a murderer on the loose? Please. Even _Stiles_ has more sense than that, death wish aside) he headed home, shucked himself up into bed and listened to the sounds of his Dad getting home at around three am.

The next day he found out that the team had found the other half of the body right near where Stiles had been planning to take Scott for a search. They could have found it _damn it!_ Of course, that also meant they could have been found by his Dad first and that the body would never have been found but, details. His Dad found the body, confirmed it to be an animal attack and not murder (Stiles breathed a sigh of relief for that one, his Dad had long enough hours as it was) got an ID (Hale, Laura – poor girl) and called up the _only living relative_ (Hale, Derek – phenomenally poor kid, _Jesus Christ_ was his day gonna be ruined,) and sent Stiles off to school with a tired smile and a promise that he’d be home for dinner that night.

He wasn’t.

THE POINT IS Stiles needed to learn playing with danger was not a perfectly good past time for a kid his age. He had a future; colleges to attend, video games to play, _sex to have_. But, alas, he was yet to learn that.

Because here he was, standing in all his furious glory (with an appearance much akin to that of an angry kitten) chest puffed out, eyes narrowed, a sticky Red Vine clamped between the fingers of one hand and the other pointing accusingly at the chest of a very angry looking blond man, _who has a gun_ might he add, shielding one Derek _GQ-calls-me-weekly_ Hale in an almost completely empty gas station and very convincingly threating to call _his father_ because apparently he’s Draco Malfoy.

He really needed to assess his priorities.

How did he get here, you may ask?

Well unlucky you did because fucked if he knows. Stiles had just gone out to get some healthy snacks (Red Vines were healthy, red is a healthy colour of food, shut up) when he’d noticed he was nearly out of gas and pulled in to the gas station. Tooootttalllly normal.

He’d just finished paying for his gas (after browsing the merchandise of the store for a while and lamenting the price for said gas) when he’d watched one of three large intimidating men smash in the window of a _Camaro_ which was a crime in itself, aside from the whole you know, vandalism thing.

In a blink he was across the lot, in front of the hottest person to ever walk the face of the planet, thank _you_ puberty, and demanding rather rudely to know ‘what the fuck they think they were doing?’

 “Get out of here,” hot leather wearing dude had growled ( _growled_ who did that? Hot leather wearing dudes, that’s who) and Stiles realized with a jolt that hot leather wearing dude was _Derek Hale_ and really, hadn’t he been through enough shit this week? Hell enough shit for his _entire life?_

“This isn’t any of your concern,” angry blond man (he appeared to be the leader of the Angry Men, which would be a cool band name actually) had said in a very stereotypically villainous manner.

And hello there, that man has a gun.

Of course his brain processes Derek’s name before ‘weapon designed for messy death’. He’s a teenager, sue him. Still, he took a deep breath and charged on, faith and idiocy on his side.

“Look Gruber, I’m real sorry, but you made this my concern when your buddy Karl over there smashed in the window of somebody else’s car. Now I’m gonna assume that you’re a good, law abiding citizen, although really judging by how you’re cornering orphaned college students at darkened back road gas stations that’s probably not correct, and you know that smashing someone else’s window like that is a chargeable offence. Now if you want, I can call up the _Sheriff_ , and have him come down here and sort this out, or you can get out your wallet and give Derek here some money for a new window and a nice big apology,” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, “your choice Hans.”

The smirk that blondy had been wearing during Stiles tirade dropped off at the word ‘Sheriff’ and was a very thin line by the time he’d finished speaking. Stiles gulped quietly but kept his chin up.

See what I mean about death wishes?

“I don’t want his money,” Derek voiced from behind him and it was surprisingly high when it wasn’t all growly. Not like girly high, but for some reason Stiles expected the deep scratch of a thirty-five year old alcoholic with a hard life on the road, not, you know, the twenty something year old college kid that Derek actually was.

“Hush,” Stiles said, waving a hand behind him without looking, “I’m defending your honour.”

“I’m not some damsel in distress,” ohhhh the growl was back, _fuck_ that was hot.

“You are in distress and if you don’t shut the fuck up and let me deal I’m gonna start callin’ you a damsel because you’re whining like one, now _hush_.”

“Are you two done?”

Stiles snapped his attention back to where Angry Blond was glaring.

Right.

Priorities.

He needed to work on those too.

“We are if you have a wad of window repair cash and a mouthful of sweet apologies just waiting to be said.”

Maybe he should come up with some kind of score card – 10 points for a glare over 60 seconds, 20 for an eye twitch. Yeah that aughta keep away the pants wetting fear.

Angry Blond flickered his eyes over Stiles shoulder to where Derek was standing, then to the two men offside (also with guns Stiles sure knew how to pick a fight didn’t he) then back to Stiles, then up to Derek again.

“Quite the guard dog you’ve got here Hale,” Blond snarked earning a bark of laughter from the men to the side like it’s the funniest joke in the world.

“Yeah, and unfortunately for you, I bite,” Stiles shoots back determinedly, earning a snort from the leather asshole behind him, _rude much,_ and he pulls out his phone, jiggling it for show, “having the Sheriff on speed-dial is so useful these days,” he adds pointedly.

10 points.

“Sorry about your car,” he gritted out and Stiles mentally fist pumped because actually fist pumping would ruin the moment, “accidents happen.”

“Accidents happen? THAT’S your apology?” Stiles shot incredulously and Angry Blond gave him a look that said to shut his mouth or a bullet would shut it for him.

“Yes,” he said, turning narrowed eyes back to Stiles, “take it or leave it.”  

Okay so working on the death wish thing is starting now.

“Right. An accident. I’m sure you’ll be more careful next time right? Because the police in this town have got this thing about repeat offenders…” Stiles finishes with a shrug, letting his sentence trail off with its own threat.

“Not to worry. _This_ won’t happen again,” and that was clearly a threat at Derek but Stiles chose to let it slide.

Then Angry Blond did the creepiest thing he’d done all evening – he grinned, really friendly like, and suddenly looked like the kind of guy you’d go to for help when your car broke down or something.

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for _accidents_ in the future… what was your name again?”

Stiles' return smile felt sharp even to himself.

“Didn’t give it. But neither did you so…”

Blondy held out a hand to shake which Stiles simply stared at until it dropped. 

“Argent. Chris Argent,”

Stiles snorted.

“How Bond of you.”

“And your name is?”

“Who said I was going to give you my name? I’m not that stupid.”

20 points.

Stiles brain _pinged,_ an actual physical sound if you’d believe him, and he’s eyes narrowed again.

“Argent huh? Any relation to Allison Argent?”

Oh and bingo was his name-o that hit the jackpot. If Chris had been angry before he was livid now, actually taking a step towards Stiles like he was going to punch him in the face or something. Derek’s hand fisted itself in the back of Stiles shirt, yanking him back behind Derek and yeah, Stiles had to admit that wasn’t such a bad plan because in the world of physical altercations Derek could probably take him.

Aaaannnndddd he was growling again, actually growling, and that was kind of un-natural.

“Leave.”

Yes, because the monosyllabic responses obviously worked _so_ well last time.

Chris looked between Derek and Stiles, furious and turned on his heel, getting in his car and gunning out of the gas station without so much as a threatening ‘this isn’t over’.

“Huh,” Stiles said when all three of the cars had pulled away, leaving the in the eerie silence of the gas station, “that actually worked.”

And now he was slammed up against the side of the Camaro which fulfilled like five of his mental fantasies but there was less intense making out and more angry glaring.

“What the hell was that? Do you have a death wish?!”

“Funny you should say that actually because I was just thinking abou—“

“I don’t fucking _care_ ,” And wow, rude, “you can’t just butt your way into other people’s business like that. I don’t know whether your tiny brain could comprehend the fact that those men were armed, but they were _fucking armed_.”

Stiles shoved Derek back, because the guy had gotten very close with his tirade and unless there was intense making out on the table he needed to back the fuck up.

“Yeah. With guns. I know asshole, I live with the Sheriff I know what a gun is.”

Derek started.

“You live with the Sheriff?”

“Duh. I’m his kid -- why else do you think I would have the Sheriff on speed dial? How else do you think I knew who you were? I didn’t _say_ it because otherwise the asshole with the four-wheeler, and the gun as you so helpfully pointed out, would know and have something to use against me. Better for anonymity.”

Derek rose an eyebrow – damn he must have practiced that in the mirror or something.

“How _old_ are you?”

Stiles grinned.

“Old enough. Now budge,” he poked Derek in the side and was way more surprised than he should have been when the man moved, “I have places to be that aren’t dark and creepy and filled with dangerous men.”

With another mocking snort Derek moved around Stiles to his car, pulling open the door with the broken window and sweeping his arm across the seat. Glass tinkled onto the tarmac lightly before he got in and started it up.

“What,” Stiles called from the side, “no thank you from the damsel in distress?”

The car gunned loudly and ripped out of the spot, screeching loudly and making Stiles jump back.

“YOU’RE WORSE THAN PRINCESS PEACH!” He screamed after the car.

“Asshole,” he added to himself as he walked back to his jeep, questioning all of his life choices. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grocery Store

Stiles put the gas station event behind him because he was a good person like that. ‘Behind him.’ Ha, what a pun, considering his nights were plagued with the thoughts of Derek actually having thanked him. Ya know, _physically_.

The whole car slamming thing plus his active imagination? All of it was just mental fodder for the left hand.

It’s been over a month since Stiles imagination had been completely overrun with the idea of Derek _forget-the-highway-and-ride-me-all-night-long_ Hale. It wasn’t like Stiles hadn’t seen him around either. Stiles was proud to say that the first time he saw Derek after the gas station incident he gave him a very subtle _we-are-totally-friends-now_ bro nod and kept walking. Didn’t fall over or anything. Burnt his lip on his coffee from the café he’d been exiting at the time, but he thinks that he covered that well.

Chris Argent was a lot harder to keep away from – Stiles got into the habit of ducking down aisles at the shops and leaving school a little late so that Argent wouldn’t see him while picking up his daughter.

Starting today, the Sherriff is heading all the way across the country to Philadelphia to assist on a case of the copy-cat killer of a serial murder that he had put away four years ago; as much as Stiles is worried about his Dad he’s also fucking excited.  The Sherriff is expected to be gone five days but he could be gone for the _whole week_. That means he gets seven days of nothing but playing video games in his underwear and worry about his Dad and eating junk food and wank and watch movies and hanging with Scott. Well hanging with Scott when Scott isn’t panting after Allison Argent which makes Stiles laugh because hello coincidence nice to see you.

And school. But you know, school doesn’t count so he chooses to ignore it most of the time. It’s a very effective system.

Stiles’ has the whole house to himself for five to seven whole days of pure alone time.

His Dad leaves on a Sunday, escorted to the airport shuttle bus by his son who spends the last five minutes of their goodbye detailing food he _was not allowed under any circumstances to eat_ and a very manly, not at all emotional hug.

The front door of the house isn’t even fully closed before Stiles is back up the stairs to his bedroom and participating, enthusiastically and _very_ loudly in some alone time. Normally he has to bite his pillow or stuff his fist into his mouth to keep it down, so it’s very freeing. Then he showers, checks the fridge, mentally makes a list of stuff he needs to buy and grabs some of the money his Dad left for him before heading out to the shops.

He hasn’t even picked up his basket before he spots Derek, standing near the end of the cereal aisle. That in itself doesn’t mean much, because Stiles _had_ seen Derek shopping before (the entire contents of Derek’s cart had been TV dinners and canned food and Stiles had felt lethargic on his body’s behalf just looking at it) but had gone the ‘bro nod’ from the distance route rather than approaching. Today was a whole different matter. Mostly because Stiles considers himself a bit of a professional in ‘Derek Hale and his incredibly expressive range of emotions’ from their brief encounters (was he _always_ frowning?!) and Derek was clearly screaming ‘defensive’ mode.

His first thought was ‘god who let Derek out of the house without a keeper’ followed quickly by ‘ _no-one_ because that is the list of _his entire friends and family’_ and he winced a little at his internal monologue before deciding to take action.

So he crossed into the aisle, grabbing a box of Lucky Charms from the shelf as he went and tossed it into the cart Derek was white knuckling and immediately began chattering away, cutting off the woman who had been talking nearby.  

“You can’t make a choice to save your life can you? Lucky Charms dude, even without the marshmallows they are multi-coloured goodness,” Stiles stepped into Derek’s personal bubble, probably intruding but not caring because united fronts were better than separated ones, thank you history class, and glancing into the cart which led to him being completely side-tracked, ignoring Derek who had raised an eyebrow (like he wasn’t used to these kind of interventions) and the woman who was giving him a speculative stink eye.

“Canned pasta? _Again?!_ Do you even _understand_ nutritional value? You’re going to get scurvy. You know who gets scurvy Derek? 18th century pirates. Now as hot as you’d look in one of those open chested shirts, you are not an 18th century pirate for the love of god eat an orange man. You know one of these days I’m just gonna make you start from the front of the store and get real vegetables, I am _so_ cooking for you tonight because I doubt you even remember the taste of real food.”

He sucked in a breath (breathing: key thing to remember doing while talking Stiles) and turned to the woman with a smile that even felt fake.

“Oh. Hi. Sorry, didn’t see you there,” he lied.

Stiles’ was about ninety per cent sure this was another Argent. Blonde, almost friendly smile, cold eyes; she meet the checklist that all Argents met. Except Allison.  Allison wasn’t on that check list because Allison was a smiley goddess sent to make Scott a puddly mess of happy and love.

“Not a problem, Derek and I were just… catching up,” she purred. Like a cat. An old, seductive cat. The kind that would roll on its back to have its tummy scratched and then claw up your hand when you did it.

“That’s nice. And you are?”

The grin was wickedly sharp.

“Kate Argent,” she offered like that would provide all the answers Stiles needed.

Stiles faked confusion.

“Oh… Were you his babysitter or something?”

The woman seemed to come to a stop, eyebrows coming up.

“No?”

“Teacher?”

“No.”

“Neighbour?”

“ _No,”_ and she was irritated now, gritting her teeth.

“Oh. Cuz you’re like really old so unless you got _really_ held back in high school I dunno how you know Derek.”

Beside him Derek made a choking sound and Kate looked like she’s been slapped.

“Cute,” she ground out, “but the adults were having a conversation so why don’t you just head back to your parent or something.”

“I’m here with Derek,” he says cheerfully and her eyes narrow, “and we’re actually kind of busy so…” He pulled the cart a little to move it along and Kate grabbed it.

“We weren’t finished.”

The humour dropped from Stiles expression and tone, turning harsh.

“Yes, you are.”

There was a tense silence broken by only by the squealing of one of the Jamerson twins as Mrs. Jamerson wandered past with her own cart.

“Derek,” Stiles offered with terse politeness and no room for arguing, “we need milk. Could you go grab some and I’ll meet you there?”

Stiles could practically hear the reluctance in Derek’s movements as he brushed lightly against Stiles back and moved out of the aisle, leaving Stiles with the cart and new Argent.

“Hale needs a child to fight his battles for him now, huh?”

“Didn’t realize this was a fight; as far as I’m concerned we’re having a conversation. Plus we’re standing next to the All-Bran dude, no exactly a good battle ground.”

Kate held herself in a relaxed stance, looking calm and generally pleased but her eyes were like stone, her smile glued into place.

“You don’t have any idea what you’re getting into, do you?” she asked, her head cocking to the side.

And he didn’t. For all he knew the Argent family were mobsters that Derek owed big money too and he was siding his loyalty with someone who would probably drop him when it got hot and leave him for dead.

But Stiles wasn’t the best at making good decisions.

“Chris know you’re here bothering Derek? Because as I remember it, we had an understanding,” Stiles offered with the slightest of mocking, as though Kate was too dumb to understand the concept.  

Kate let all her pre-tenses fall away.

“What my brother doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she snarled with a smile.

“Yeah, plausible deniability is so great hu,” he shot back calmly, “but since you’re obviously a little sore in the head I’ll fill you in. You Argents are gonna stay away from Derek from here on out or you’re going to find the police becoming _very_ interested in you and everyone you’ve ever so much as glanced at in the last twenty years.”

Stiles yanked the cart out of Kate’s grip.

“I’m willing to bet you’ve got plenty of skeletons in that closet of yours Katie, and I highly doubt you’re able to smile and flirt your way around all of them. So I’d tread _very_ carefully.”

He wheeled the cart away while Kate glared.

“It was nice to meet you. Oh,” he called, cheerful voice back in place when he reached the end of the aisle, “and say hi to Allison for me!”

He walked calmly and slowly to the milk, where Derek was glaring at the bottles in the fridge, all of the muscles in his back tense.

“I should probably mention that I'm Stiles, by the way, because it just occured to me we've never been officially introdu--”

“Why do you keep doing this?” Derek bit out, his hands in fists. Stiles shrugged.

“You looked like you needed the save.”

“I was _fine,_ ”

“You didn’t look it.”

“I had a handle on it,”

“You needed help,”

“I didn’t need _your_ help,”

“Yeah well I don’t exactly see anyone else lining up to offer you some,”

Okay so that was a low blow and Stiles immediately wished he could take it back, especially when Derek took a small step away from him, hurt written all over his face before he blanked it carefully.

“Look,” Stiles offered quietly, “just… being alone sucks okay? You’ve had it pretty rough and you don’t deserve people messing with you like that, whatever the reason. I’m not looking to butt into your business, but I’m not going to stand by and let you get harassed either. You’re not getting my pity or my sympathy or any of that shit. I’m offering you some friendship man. Nobody should have nobody. Everybody needs somebody. So,” Stiles leaned over to the milk and pulled up a bottle, “I’m gonna finish shopping and then I’m gonna go home and make a really huge batch of food that is definitely too much for one person and it’d be really nice if you joined me. And if you don’t… that’s fine. But if you do, that’s fine too.”

He put the bottle into the cart, which he was effectively stealing from Derek but he chose not to bring that up, and started pushing it past Derek.

“Just think about it,” he murmured as he moved away, turning down a random aisle.

Derek found him two aisles later and tossed a stick of deodorant into the cart.

“I don’t like peas,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets and glaring at the wheel of the cart. Stiles smile was blinding but he quickly reigned it in, settling into something small but obviously pleased when Derek looked up at him again.

“No peas. Got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://www.captainnaustralia.tumblr.com) is my Tumblr  
> [This](http://www.intergalacticju.tumblr.com) is Ju's Tumblr  
> [This](http://www.foldedpinup.tumblr.com) is Lana's Tumblr


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At home

Derek paid for the shopping, which pleased Stiles but also confused him, and then helped pack all of it (including those stupid protein bar things which were ridiculous) into Stiles jeep before following him home in the Camaro. Stiles looped his block a couple of times before pulling into his driveway, just in case, and Derek didn’t mention it when they got out of their respective cars. Derek had, however, looked really freaking awkward standing in the doorway of his kitchen while Stiles unpacked the shopping, but Stiles had smoothed it over with constant chattering about Scott and Allison and lacrosse and that _douchebag_ Jackson Whittemore. Stiles made Derek set the table while he finished cooking (macaroni and cheese, but not the stuff from the packet, real, healthy, home-made stuff with vegetables and pancetta). Derek was actually fairly okay to hang around with when you weren’t talking about the Argents. He was quiet, but helpful, which worked well.

“Okay,” Stiles says, dishing the food neatly onto plates and sitting the remaining bowl down on the table while Derek hovers awkwardly behind him, “we’re gonna eat and you’re going to tell me what this Argent shit is about and then we’re gonna watch a movie.”

And just like that, a switch had been flipped and Derek was rigid and angry, almost like a totally different person from the guy who’d been laying plates on the table just minutes ago.

“No,”

“What the movie seems like too much for you? Because I have all of the _Die Hard_ movies dude, even the new on--”

“You’re not getting involved.”

Stiles snorted at that, turning around so he was leaning against the table.

“I’m already involved.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“I know that,” Stiles said with a roll of his eyes, “it’s not like I’m accusing you. The point is I’m already involved. I’m not backing down or out and you need to deal with that in a mature and adult way. Preferably by telling me everything.”

Derek was grinding his teeth.

“No.”

“Well that was a horrible attempt at being mature and adult.”

“You want mature? Fine,” Derek was stepping forward, caging Stiles against the table, his voice low and threatening, “This is _dangerous_ , as in _life or death_ and if you keep _getting involved_ like you’ve been doing you’re going to _die_.”

There was a tense silence while Derek glared and Stiles stood passive and still before him. Stiles slowly raised his hand and for a second Derek was sure that he was about to be punched in the face, when there was a sharp flick against his forehead and he was rearing back, bewildered and shocked. Stiles took advantage of his surprise to slip away from the table and around next to his seat a safe distance away.

“Did you just _flick me_ ,”

“Yeah, because you’re behaving like a fifteen year old girl who got Facebook hacked,”

“Damn it,” Derek’s fist slammed against the wood of the table, making the bowls rattle, because Stiles needed to understand how serious this was, how many people had already been hurt,  “this isn’t a joke!”

“You think I don’t realize that?” Stiles hissed, his calm slipping, angry and panicked and deathly serious, leaning forward over the table, “you think I don’t realize what they could do to me? What they could do to my _father?_ People who walk around like they do aren’t playing games. The only reason one of the Argents haven’t put a _bullet_ in me out of pure annoyance is because I’m an anomaly! They only back down from me because they don’t _know_ me, they don’t _know_ if I’m serious with my threats or if I’m even capable of them, they don’t _know_ how dangerous I am to them. How long do you think they’re going to let a child strut around making threats at them? Do you honestly believe that I don’t already know that the very _second_ they find out that all I am is 140 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones with sarcasm as my only defence, that I’m not going to end up in some kind of ‘mysterious accident’? I am risking everything for you and worse than that I’m risking my _family_ for you, so you can put your brooding, angsting mystery to the side for now and _man the fuck up_ because I am _already involved_ and I’m already invested and I’m not going anywhere. I’m not letting anything happen to you any more than I’d let something happen to my Dad because I have grown up surrounded by criminals and I know just how much this _isn’t a joke,_ so suck it up, sit the fuck down and eat your god damn macaroni, you asshole.”

Stiles sucked in a deep breath and straightened himself up, before calmly pulling out his chair and sitting down. He studiously didn’t look up at Derek while he picked up his fork in a slightly trembling hand and started his dinner.

And Derek.

Derek _didn’t get it._

He could hear Stiles heartbeat jacked up onto an unhealthy setting, hear the way his knee was bouncing up and down under the table now he was sitting, and smell his fear, his anger, and the adrenaline rushing through him. All of his senses were being assaulted by how much Stiles didn’t want to help him but his heart never skipped a beat.

And Derek didn’t _want_ to stay, he wanted to just walk out right now and never come back, never speak to Stiles ever again if only that would ensure that Stiles stayed out of it. But that was the human in him. The wolf in him was _howling_ in desperation for a pack, because the rogue Alpha wasn’t pack and Stiles was there, strong and fearless and constant, protecting him even when he didn’t need it or want it, _like_ pack should. 

He just… wanted to feel _safe_.

So he dropped into the chair on the other side of the table.

Stiles glanced up at him.

“I’m a werewolf,” Derek said without hesitation, his voice detached, staring at the spot just over Stiles ear.

Stiles blinked once, twice and then groaned out ‘of course you are’ and slammed his head against the table and left it there. Derek picked up his fork and started eating.

It was really good.

“Why couldn’t it have been drugs? Or gangs?” Stiles whined but didn’t lift his head up.

“My life has never been that simple,” Derek muttered and Stiles looked up finally, levelling Derek with a serious look.

“Are you fucking with me?”

Derek bared his teeth and flashed his eyes a deep electric blue, oddly thrilled with the way Stiles sucked in a breath and his eyes widened.

There was quiet while Stiles processed, his fingers tapping on the table and Derek’s fork scraping against his plate the only noise in the room.

“How long?”

“My whole life. I was born one.”

Stiles opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head and then chewed his lip before continuing.

“So the Argents…”

“Hunters,”

“Naturally,” Stiles groaned, huffing out a breath. Then his face twisted into something confused and sympathetic and pained before he winced and asked,

“Your family…?”

“Innocent,” he growled back, gripping the fork harder than necessary, “we were a stable, established pack. We had a _treaty_ and they _broke it._ ”

Stiles nodded but didn’t push, his eyebrows scrunching together.

“Laura?”

The fork clattered to the table, Derek’s fingers turning to claws in the wood.

“Murdered,”

“Argents?”

“No.”

“Who?”

“Rogue wolf.”

 “Is it still around?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

A heartbeat then,

“Where are you living?”

Derek started at the change of questioning before narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“Why?”

“Nu uh, its question the mythological creature time not question the human time. Answer.”

Derek snorted and slumped in his chair like all the energy had been drained from him, any wolf features he’d been holding dropping back to human.

“My house.”

Stiles gave him an odd look.

“You don’t have a hou—oh my god. You mean the Hale Ruins don’t you.”

Derek quietly picked at the grove he’d left in the wood of the table with his nails instead of answering.

“That place is _condemned_ Derek,” Stiles chastised, like that was the most shocking news Derek had shared with him all evening.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Derek shrugged and _oh._ Oh, oh, oh that hurt _so much_ that Derek actually gave Stiles an odd look, like he could _hear_ the hurt or something.

“You’re staying here.”

“I’m not,”

“Derek, seriously, how have you not learned how this works by now? Dad’s out of town, we have a spare room. I’ll get you settled in and then when Dad gets back I’ll fill him in.”

“You can’t tell him abou—“ Derek started, suddenly panicked but Stiles rose his hands placating.

“I won’t. I don’t need to lie to him but I don’t need to tell him the truth either. I’ll just say I helped you with some dicks that were giving you a hard time and then found out where you were living and that you followed me home.”

Derek nodded slowly, like that was okay, like this situation was just perfectly acceptable. Stiles gave him an odd look and then immediately bit his lips like he was trying to hold in laughter. Derek rose an eyebrow.

“What.”

Stiles shook his head, biting his lip harder.

“Seriously, what.”

“You followed me home,” Stiles let out, “like a _stray dog,”_ Derek flicked a bit of macaroni at Stiles who was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

“Oh,” Stiles sighed out, wiping an eye and grinning like a loon, “so many dog jokes, _so_ little time.”

Derek growled.

“Give it up Sourwolf, I know you’re just a big cuddly puppy who wants his tummy rubbed.”

This time Derek flashed his eyes when he growled and Stiles laughed all over again. Derek felt his lips twitch and realized… he was _playing._ Actually kind of relaxing.

“So you know I’m gonna have ten thousand questions and I’m expecting you to answer all of them? And that I’m probably going to do insane research that I’ll expect you to confirm and/or deny?”

Derek shrugged.

“I guessed as much.”

Stiles picked his fork back up.

“So do you want to go and get your stuff before or after we watch the movie? Also _Die Hard_ – which one do you want to watch?”

And that was it. No freaking out. No screaming. No demands. Just accepting it and moving on.

“Before?”

Stiles grinned victoriously when Derek didn’t argue with him and nodded.

“Okay, we’ll finish dinner, wash up, grab your stuff and then come back here and enjoy Bruce Willis. Good. I like this plan.”

Derek chuckled and Stiles smiled, quietly pleased, radiating contentment in a way that made Derek’s wolf snuffle happily.

Of course, Stiles then waited until Derek was taking a sip of his water before springing the ‘so, do you have a knot on your dick?’ question at him, resulting in him choking spectacularly while Stiles cackled, killing any kind of pleasant thoughts Derek might have had about him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://www.captainnaustralia.tumblr.com) is my Tumblr  
> [This](http://www.intergalacticju.tumblr.com) is Ju's Tumblr  
> [This](http://www.foldedpinup.tumblr.com) is Lana's Tumblr


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Scott and the rogue Alpha

Derek spent the next three days doing a series of increasingly weird things and saying ‘it’s a wolf thing’ whenever Stiles caught him. Half the time Stiles wanted to call bullshit, but every time he didn’t some of the constant tension in Derek’s shoulders would bleed away, just a little bit.

Even though Derek was, for lack of a better word, _living_ with Stiles, he still didn’t entirely trust him; not to say that Derek would sulk around corners and watch Stiles every move or anything, just… little things. There was definitely some level of trust, but it hovered right at that line between acquaintances and friends, never really braving that next step.

Other than that, Derek and Stiles got on fine. Freakishly well actually.

They fought constantly, but all of it bore a small amount of teasing and never settled into a serious topic; over what movies to watch, taking out the trash, forcing Derek to properly learn how to use the ancient Stilinski washing machine. Stiles joked that Derek’s favourite word was ‘no’ and then proceeded to laugh for the next ten minutes at Derek’s expression as he tried to formulate an objection that didn’t have the word ‘no’ or any of its variations in it.

It was light, and healthy, and Stiles revelled in it, because Derek was there in the morning when he woke up, sleepily drinking coffee and grunting at Stiles (who, once awake, was a _morning person_ ) while the younger chattered and twittered about his plans for the day, or about whatever he’d been researching (“Speak to me about scenting,” “Oh my god,” “No seriously, are you going to start rubbing up against me? Do I need to get a squirt bott— _ow!_ We talked about the hitting, what have I said about the hitting?! Wait, was that you subtly scent marking me, because it’s still conta—ah, ah, okay, uncle, uncle, lemme go!”) Derek was there when he got home from school, watching T.V. or reading, or working out (which had been an experience to walk in on, the sight was _burned into Stiles eyelids oh my god)_ and he was always home for dinner with a sarcastic comment or dry observation ready and waiting.

Derek wasn’t dumb, or as emotionally expressionless as he liked to think he appeared. No, Derek was made of muscles, eyebrows and pure sass that he liked to whip out at random moments. That’s kind of why Stiles liked spending time with him. He could match Stiles quip for quip when he felt like it, and as the days wore on he would do it more and more, loosening into his surroundings and Stiles’ company.

Stiles plans for the time his Dad was out of town didn’t change much either; he still played a shit tonne of video games (although he wore more than just his underwear), he still worried about his Dad and spoke to him on the phone every night (the case was going slow and he’d been conned into purchasing a porcupine figurine from an old antique dealer and has no idea how it happened, but otherwise he’s fine and eating healthy), he still watched his way through half of Netflix while ignoring his homework. He ate plenty of junk food (although again, significantly less than he would normally because he was trying to re-introduce the concept of vegetable to Derek) and his hang out time with Scott became hang out time with Derek (who sucked at video games but _crushed_ Stiles in board games like it was nobody’s business) because Scott had secured his date with Allison and was now busy smooching on his girlfriend in the afternoons, but Allison was the sweetest person to walk the earth aside from Scott ( _how_ she came from a family of psycho murderers Stiles had _no_ idea) making them the sickeningly sweetest couple to ever grace the halls of Beacon Hills High, and Scott and Stiles were still the troublesome duo in school so Stiles didn’t mind sacrificing some bro time for a bro with bro-ly needs.

He _had_ sacrificed ‘Stiles time’ because really, that’s kinda inappropriate, especially since he’d found out about the fact that werewolves had super-hearing (which, by the way, he’d found out _after_ enjoying some Stiles time in the shower and Derek had been smirking at him all through breakfast before dropping _that_ bombshell. Stiles still did stuff in the shower he was just more quiet about it. Derek still asked ‘entertaining shower’ _every god damn time_ and Stiles had to bite down on the ‘better than yours’ every time as well because then he started thinking about Derek in the shower and Derek’s grin would just get wider and Stiles just wanted to hit the bastard.)

So yeah, for the most part, Stiles revelled in having someone _there_ , constantly, to coming home to a house that wasn’t empty, to eating at the table instead of by himself in his room. He loved having someone to argue with and laugh with and cook with because try as he might his Dad just didn’t make it home as often as Stiles or he would like. He even enjoyed all the weird, supposedly wolfy things that Derek did.

Like stealing Stiles clothes, which were too small for him anyway despite the fact they were practically the same height, Stiles _taller_ if he didn’t count Derek’s ridiculous ducktail hair. Or sniffing Stiles when he came home from school, grimacing like he smelt something bad (worse after lacrosse but Stiles wouldn’t hold that one over him) and demanding Stiles go and shower. Or eating double, sometimes triple what Stiles could eat (and Stiles could pack it away for a skinny dude) making them go shopping again in the middle of the week; now that he’d seen Derek’s appetite, Stiles made sure to buy stuff for more filling foods. And he’d practically _destroyed_ the comforter set in the guest room the first night he was here, Stiles finding him shoving the ripped sheets in a garbage bag in the morning and getting a short, terse ‘panicked, It’s a wolf thing,’ in response to his questions. Stiles didn’t ask anything more, just went and got a new set of sheets, because they weren’t quite up to the swapping nightmares part of the friendship just yet.

These were all wolf things (well the nightmares seemed purely Derek but Stiles was willing to let that one slide) that Stiles had checked off as actual werewolf things. Some he _knew_ were just excuses.

Like when Derek lounged across the couch, obnoxiously taking up as much space as possible and lazily grinning at Stiles while he did it. Or when he would just _appear_ behind Stiles, having silently approached from behind and spoken, just to make the younger man have a heart attack. Or when they were doing the shopping and he’d made faces at all the vegetables (like a _child_ ) and insisted on extra meat (Derek was going to get along with his Dad _swimmingly_ Stiles could see the blood pressure levels now).

Still. He’d let Stiles kick his legs off the coffee table and he’d wash the dishes without complaint when dinner was finished if Stiles had cooked and he washed Stiles clothes on Tuesday while he’d been at school without even being asked so Derek wasn’t all that bad.

Thursday afternoon was when things got a little strained. Derek had mentioned (read: warned) to Stiles that morning that it was the full moon that night, and he’d probably be more on edge and he would also probably be out all night, eating bunnies or whatever. Stiles understood that and then realized he’d be alone for dinner and felt a weird sort of pang. But he’d smiled though Derek’s I-feel-nothing face which meant he was keeping his emotions in _very_ close check and told him to have fun hunting Bambi’s mother.

But, Derek was out and Allison had a study group for a history project that Scott wasn’t involved in so Stiles figured why not invite his best friend over for some much needed bro time? No problem with that, right?

Wrong.

\------------

Scott flopped onto the couch with a sigh, ‘ _ommph’_ ing loudly when Stiles tossed his backpack into Scott’s stomach and laughing when Stiles stumbled over around the coffee table after doing so.

“How have you survived this long,” Scott grinned and Stiles sneered back.

“I was literally just thinking the same thing about you. God you’re the type of person who’d offer serial killers a lift home or something, Jesus.”

“So, what, I’d offer you a lift home?”

“Dumbass,”

“Asshole. Get me a soda.”

“Get it yourself! You’ve been here enough that you no longer qualify for guest status.”

Scott pouted, pulling out the puppy eyes (which are totally unfair because his puppy eyes are better than Stiles’ puppy eyes and are actually _impossible_ to ignore) and sinking into the couch.

“But I’m all achey from lacrosse,” he whined, miming an inability to lift his arms.

“Oh boo hoo, ‘I’m playing first line because of the pink eye epidemic while Stiles sits on the bench, woe is me!’ If you couldn’t handle the vicious deliciousness that is lacrosse then you shouldn’t play.”

“Ouch dude,”

“You deserve it,”

Stiles yelped when Scott kicked him off the sofa, flailing to his feet when a bang came from the kitchen.

“What was that?” Scott asked, looking around the corner curiously.

Stiles heart wrenched into his chest, his mind going to a thousand different deadly and dangerous places, but he kept his smile light while he shrugged.

“I dunno, wind probably. I’ll check it out while I get _myself_ a soda,”

“Aw come on man, you’re already up and everything,” Scott whined, noise forgotten in his effort to convince Stiles to play slave.

Stiles laughed as he rounded the corner, but kept his eyes sharp, suddenly wishing he had a weapon. He flicked on the light with a small ‘ _ahhhh_ ha!’ and then jumped three feet in the air, clutching at his chest.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Derek what the fuck,” Stiles hissed, his back resting against the kitchen wall while he caught his breath.

Derek remained where he was in the corner of the kitchen, arms wrapped around his torso, glaring silently at Stiles. There were two steaming mugs sitting on the bench, the milk sitting out beside them and Stiles spared them a curious glance before powering on.

“What are you doing here?”

“I _live_ here, remember.” Derek said through his teeth and Stiles swallowed because Derek had gone back to forgetting how to use question marks which was never good.

“I know,” Stiles tried soothingly, because Derek had that panicked trapped look he only ever got around Argents on his face and it made Stiles ache a little. He shouldn’t feel like that in his own damn home, however temporary it may be, “I just thought you were going running. You know,” Stiles mimed growling teeth, raising his hands up to something more like a T-Rex than a werewolf, “ _running.”_

Derek pushed his hands deeper in to his armpits.

“I was worried,” he muttered, “thought I’d leave later. Be home…” he trailed off and Stiles brain did another one of those pinging things.

“Oh,” his eyes went wide, flicking back to the mugs, because Derek had made _them_ coffee, he’d come back to stay with _Stiles_ for the afternoon. But Scott…

“ _Oh,”_ he said again as he realized.

“Yeah, _oh_ ,”

“Don’t get pissy at me Sourwolf, I thought you’d be gone all night.”

Derek bared his teeth like he was going to get wolfy in retaliation when Stiles heard footsteps and ‘dude, what’s taking so—‘ before Scott was in the kitchen and Derek looked like folding into himself was an option.

Stiles mind rushed quickly, working out his werewolf knowledge to understand what was happening (Derek felt threatened because a stranger was in his territory, worse because it was without warning AND on a full moon, damn it Stiles, you are an _idiot_ ) and his excuses for Scott (friend? Cousin? New dog?)

“What the fuck,” Scott said instead, moving to stand in front of Stiles like Derek was some kind of threat (which, cool to know Scott is willing to defend him against obviously larger burglars, thanks buddy) and Stiles had to move quickly to get around him and in front of Derek when the older man looked about ready to tear Scott’s throat out for stepping between them.

“Heeeeyyyyyy Scotty. Have you met Derek? This is Derek, Derek lives here now. Derek say hi.”

There was a terse silence that Stiles broke by elbowing Derek in the stomach (which, _ow_ , was he _made_ of muscle) and making him grunt out a hello.

“Wait, who? He _lives_ here?! What the hell Stiles?”

Scott got the confused and slightly angry puppy look, glaring at Derek over Stiles shoulder in a way that meant that Derek was _totally_ glaring back.

“It’s all a really long story which isn’t important,” Stiles flapped, waving his arms in half a distraction, “what is important is Mario Kart because Derek’s never played and he’ll probably be so bad even you can beat him,”

“Hey!” Scott protested, affronted, and Derek made a noise behind Stiles with equal levels of annoyance.

“So we’ll just go and play Mario Kart, okay, Derek come join u—“

“Stiles, can I talk to you,” Scott hissed, eyes wide, “ _alone_ ,” he added when Stiles opened his mouth to protest and then stalked wilfully from the room, expecting Stiles to follow. He had his ‘this is serious and I will be serious about it’ face that Stiles could recall seeing a total of five times during the cause of their entire friendship.

“Shit,” Stiles muttered, whirling around to face Derek, who had gone back to expressionless nothing, which was so _so_ much worse than glaring.

“Okay. I’m going to go and talk to Scott before he does something rash and stupid because he’s a dumbass, but please, please, _please_ stay here until I get back okay? We can do the bonding thing, you can get to know Scott, see he’s not a threat, okay? Really. He can’t hurt a fly. I’m not even kidding, like he swatted one once and then teared up, it was hilarious and kind of weird but I swear. So. Just stay. Please?”

Derek’s face slowly morphed back into a solid glare (and since when did him glaring become a relief Jesus Christ was this a twisted sister) and he nodded harshly. Stiles threw him a grateful smile.

“Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

He hurried from the room back into the lounge where Scott was waiting, pacing like a crazy expectant father or something.

“What the hell Stiles,” Scott opened venomously in a stage whisper, “who the hell was that? Nobody but you and your Dad live here. I’ve been your best friend for _years,_ I know when you’re hiding something and that dude in there looked like he was going to _kill me_. Is he a murderer? Oh my god you’re harbouring a murderer aren’t you. Are you a hostage? Blink twice for yes.”

“Jesus, Scott, calm down,” Stiles said, eyes wide, because Scott had passed from angry into concerned (Stiles would prefer angry. Angry Scott could be distracted or deterred or talked down. Concerned Scott would _never give up. Ever._ ) and was starting to give Stiles crazy I-care-about-you-let-me-help eyes.

“Did you blink twice? I couldn’t see.”

“ _No,_ I didn’t. I’m not a hostage, he isn’t a murderer. He’s just… grumpy.”

“Grumpy enough to _kill me?”_

“Who said anything about killing you? Nobody. Well you said something about killing you but I just don’t thi—“

“Stiles,”

“Right, anyway, Derek is NOT a murderer or a hostage taker or a criminal of any kind.”

“Then why is he _here_ ,” Scott hissed, anger mixing heavily with concern in a dangerous combination.

“Because he’s _Derek Hale,_ ” Stiles said.

Scott stared at him, waiting.

“So?!” He burst out after a minute.

“ _So,_ remember that girl, in the forest? _Laura Hale?”_ Scott gave him a confused look but then it cleared.

“Ohhhh.”

“Yeah. And the _Hale fire_ ten years ago? Of which there were like two survivors? You know. Laura and Derek?”

Scott’s face passed completely from anger and levelled into guilt, with concern still touching in.

“Oh… So he’s here… because… he has no-where else to go?”

Stiles winced.

“He’s here because he needs to be and because he _wants_ to be. He’s just… still a little on edge. Trust issues, ya know,” Scott nodded sagely like he understood _completely_ , “and he wasn’t expecting anyone else being home so when he heard you he kind panicked a little. People… people aren’t _nice_ like you Scott, sometimes when people see someone hurting they like to kick them while they’re down. So I brought Derek here, where he’d be safe.”

“Wait, someone was kicking him?”

“Metaphorically kicking him Scott, keep up.”

“But… why?”

Stiles shrugged.

“Easy target? Because no-one would stop them? Do they need a reason?”

Scott bristled like an angry cat at the injustice and Stiles felt a stab of pride for his friend.

“Those _assholes._ ”

“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t tell you he was here. I thought he’d be out this afternoon and I don’t know how long he’ll be able to stand living with me, ya know? So I didn’t want to be like ‘hey, new room-mate’ only to have him move out the next day or something.”

Scott nodded thoughtfully and then groaned.

“Awww man! I totally fucked up my first impression didn’t I?”

Stiles snorted and shook his head.

“Nah. Der is pretty on edge today so he’s just moody, which didn’t help. I’m sure if you went in and tried again he’d be perfectly nice and friendly,” Stiles placed a heavy emphasis on his last words, knowing Derek would be listening in.

Well, _hoping_ Derek was listening in and hadn’t jumped out a nearby window or out the back door or something.

“Okay,” Scott said, pulling himself up to full height and nodding, “alright, let’s go. I’ll even let him win at Mario Kart.”

It took a whole minute for Stiles to calm down from laughing about that.

\-------------------

The afternoon was… awkward to say the least. Stiles was beyond relieved to make it back into the kitchen and find Derek still there, still grumpy as all fuck, the coffee mugs suspiciously missing from the bench and the milk having been returned to the fridge. Scott attempted to re-introduce himself and Derek gave a short smile and avoided standing to close. Scott, the beautiful butterfly of goodness, took this as an approval and immediately bounded off to start up Mario Kart while Derek gave Stiles a significant ‘this will be talked about and it will be uncomfortable for you’ look before following him.

Derek sat right on the edge of the couch, as close to Stiles as he could sit while also being as far from Scott as possible. Scott, bless his soul, failed to notice that Derek was like a cat in water with a porcupine shoved up his ass because he was too busy losing _spectacularly_ at Mario Cart.

For the most part, it was almost like Derek wasn’t even there – he kept quiet and didn’t bother really engaging in any banter (at one point Stiles _swears_ he wasn’t even _breathing_ the freak) and did very moderately in the game (except when he came out with a blue shell right before Stiles was set to win and raced across the line ahead of him, just _not cool_ dude) and even politely said thank you when Stiles ordered a whole extra double meat Meatlovers pizza just for him while he and Scott split a pepperoni for dinner. Scott got a text from Allison just as it started getting dark, asking if he wanted to see a movie, and he gave Stiles puppy dog eyes until he convinced Stiles to drive him. Stiles made Scott go and wait in the car so he could speak to Derek and earned himself a very serious side-eye that he will ignore for now.

“Will you be here when I get back? It’ll be dark so I dunno if you’re gonna go on your… uh, run.”

Derek didn’t move from where he was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen.

“Maybe.”

Stiles sighed and just swiped up his keys, moving out the door.

“Oh fun, vague Derek has returned,” Stiles muttered as it swung closed, kicking at a rock on the footpath with more force than necessary.

It really fucking bothered him and he couldn’t put his finger on why. It wasn’t the vagueness, although that was pretty annoying.

They made it to the end of the road before Scott stopped sending him awkward looks out of the edge of his eye and turned fully in his seat.

“Really? You’re going to do this now, while I’m driving?”

“Yeah, you can’t run away.”

“I could crash the car.”

“You wouldn’t hurt the jeep like that,” Scott declared smugly and Stiles cursed under his breath because Scott was _so_ right.

Stiles sighed heavily and flickered his eyes from the road to Scott.

“Okay. Out with it.”

“Are you dating Derek?”

Stiles nearly crashed the jeep.

“Holy crap man, did you just soccer mom me?” Scott gasped while Stiles put shaky arms back on the wheel.

“What the _fuck_ man?! Why the hell would you think we were dating?!”

Scott shrugged and Stiles made a small squeaking noise in the back of his throat while he flailed. A horn sounded behind them and Stiles carefully continued driving.

“No, really, what the fuck,”

“Well you kinda sat really close. And he kept touching you. And glaring at me a lot like I’d interrupted something, ya know, date-like. Plus he listened to you too, I’m like 90% sure he was going to bolt from the kitchen and run away and you told him not to so he stayed, and that’s kind of relationship material. So you’re not dating?”

“ _No,”_ Stiles said vehemently, “what makes you think I even like guys Scott?”

Scott shrugged again.

“Mom.”

“ _Your mother said I liked guys?!”_

“Ow, your voice goes really high, you know that?”

“Scott!”

“Jesus. Yes. And so do I dude, I mean. You’re in love with Lydia,”

“Because she’s a strawberry haired goddess,”

“But I’ve seen you eyeing Danny more than her lately,”

“Oh my god,”

“And when you were drunk last time,”

“YOU TOLD ME I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING EMBARRASSING,”

“You told me that you sorta liked guys as well as girls but you didn’t want me to get weird about it and that you didn’t like me because liking family is incest and therefore wrong and illegal in most states.”

“Duuuddddeeeee,”

“Then you threw up.”

Stiles pulled to a stop at a red light and tapped at the wheel.

“You’re freaking out, aren’t you.”

“Shut up Scott, I swear to god.”

“Fine, fine.”

There was about ten seconds of silence before Scott said,

“I’m kind of glad you’re not dating Derek,” and Stiles nearly crashed the jeep all over again.

“What? Why? Am I not good enough?” Stiles bristled, because hey, insulting much?

“No, no. You could do way better is what I mean. He just seems… intense dude. Serious. Uh… angry? Kinda not worth it. And not your type.”

“How do you know if I have a type?”

“Just a guess,”

For some reason, Stiles felt his hackles rising anyway, even though it wasn’t something he should have been remotely insulted over.

“Why wouldn’t Derek be good enough, or my type? I mean, yeah he’s a grumpy sourwolf, but he’s not all that bad. He’s actually really funny sometimes and can totally keep up with me sarcasm wise. And he’s thoughtful, and considerate, and pretty freakin’ polite when he wants to be, not to mention he’s totally allowed to be a grumpy sourwolf when you consider his history so he should be cut some slack,”

“Woah, calm down dude, I didn’t mean it as a personal dig at the guy. Just an opinion.”

“Yeah well he’s got enough people spreading negative opinions about him around he doesn’t need another,” Stiles shot back harshly and then immediately felt bad as Scott deflated a little.

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered, “it’s just… he doesn’t deserve it okay. He was pretty weird today, I know that, even I thought it was weird. But he’s not normally like that. If you came over on any other day he’d be totally different, and I know that sounds like I’m making an excuse but I’m not. Just, don’t make a snap judgement okay? He’s worth more than that.”

Stiles fidgeted his way to the theatre where he was dropping Scott when the other boy didn’t reply. When the car was in park Scott clapped him on the shoulder.

“I know he’s been through a lot. I know you like him and I promise to give him a second shot. But Stiles, if he hurts you, I will end him. Okay?”

Stiles blinked, surprised.

“Oh…kay?”

Scott nodded, oddly serious, and then grabbed his bag.

“Don’t wait too long to ask him out though. He’s already waiting.”

“Dude, I’m no—“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Later,” and with that Scott was out of the jeep and walking away.

“I DON’T HAVE A CRUSH,” Stiles shouted out the window after him but Scott just kept walking, waving a hand behind him dismissively.

Stiles fell back into his chair.

“Crap.”

\--------------

Stiles was honestly expecting the house to be completely empty when he got home. The downstairs was dark, and he couldn’t see any upstairs lights from the lawn, so he was already feeling a pang of… something that Derek had left when he trudged up the stairs, when he saw Derek’s light was on from down the hall.

“Der?” He called as he headed towards it because Derek was just as likely to pop up behind him in some kind of twisted revenge. There was no response and Stiles knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open.

Derek was sitting on the end of his bed just sort of staring at his hands, all the muscles in his back tense and hard.

“Hey,” Stiles said softly, leaning against the doorframe, “I thought you might have left.”

Derek’s hands curled into fists and then released out again.

“I can’t.”

Stiles frowned, pushing off the doorframe and taking a step inside.

“What? Why?”

“Don’t come any closer,”

Stiles paused mid step.

“… Derek?”

He flashed a pointed tooth growl, standing up and moving over by the window.

“I can’t leave anymore because you brought Scott over.”

Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“It’s just Scott. I didn’t know it’d be an issue, you’d have to have met him eventually. Plus I thought you’d be gone,”

“So you just thought what, you’d be a stranger into the house and let me come home and find his scent everywhere,” Derek hissed, turning on Stiles and storming over, “on a _full moon?_ ” If I’d come back in the middle of the night I’d have thought you were being _attacked_ , the wolf isn’t rational Stiles, I would have just hunted him down.”

“Oh man… sorry, I didn’t know,”

“No, you didn’t _ask,”_

Stiles pulled himself to full height, narrowing his eyes,

“It’s _my_ house Derek, sorry for not asking if I could have my best friend of eight years over for the afternoon when you _weren’t meant to be home,_ ”

Derek started pacing, glaring at Stiles who glared right back

“You keep telling me to make myself at home and stop acting like a guest, well if you want me to treat this like it’s my home too then I’m going to treat it like it’s my _territory,_ and it needs to be protected! And Scott was the _worst_ possible person you could have brought over,”

“Okay what the hell problem do you have with Scott,”

“He _reeks_ of Argent Stiles! Like he just rolled around in their house! And then you brought him _here_ , to our _home_ , and just let him in to spread that god damn scent _everywhere,_ and I can’t breathe, I can’t freaking _see straight_ because all I can think is that there is a threat and we’re not strong enough, _I’m not strong enough_ and we need to _run_ because I can’t protect you here, I can’t even protect myself and we can’t, and I can’t and,”

“Woah, Derek, calm down,”

He was pacing, all but throwing himself back and forth across the room, breathing hard.

“I’m not in control Stiles,” he growls out, a casual warning, “I don’t have a pack. I’ve always had a pack, even when it was just Laura, I had _Laura_ and she could protect us, she could keep me in control, keep me in check because she was the Alpha and she could do that. But I don’t _have_ an Alpha anymore and it’s hard, _so hard,_ last month I had to use the chains and I haven’t used those since I was _twelve_ ,”

“Maybe we should,”

“I can’t stay here with that scent but I can’t leave because this is my home, _you_ made it _my home_ and now it’s _polluted_ and I need to protect it just as much as I need to run away from it, but I don’t have an Alpha or a pack and I’m losing it over here Stiles, _losing it_ , and I ju—“

He cut off, going completely still, his eyes flashing electric blue. In a heartbeat he was a wolf, facing the window with his head cocked to the side.

“Alpha,” he murmured and moved towards it, like he was going to just jump out of it.

“Wait, where are you going?” Stiles jerked forward, putting himself between Derek and the window, where Derek was standing in a semi-trance like state, head tilted.

“Alpha’s calling,” he murmured and then he was moving faster, trying to push past Stiles.

Alpha’s calling? But Derek doesn’t have an Alpha he just…

“The rogue… shit. Derek,” he grabbed Derek’s arm and gasped as he was slammed into the wall with Derek baring down on him, teeth bared, in full wolf form, “stop,” he stuttered out and Derek snarled but… he didn’t continue.

“Stop,” Stiles tried again, more harshly and Derek ripped himself away, back across the other side of the room, swallowing deep breaths of air, fighting the wolf down.

“Stiles,” he gasped out, “I’m not… I can’t… _pack,_ ” he whined, loudly, and his head snapped back to the window, the wolf wrenching to the surface again. This time Stiles could hear it, the distant rumble that could easily be mistaken for thunder or a truck.

The Alpha was howling, calling out for a pack.

For Derek.

But it had _killed_ Laura. Was it calling to lure Derek to his death? Either way, Stiles wasn’t taking any chances.

Derek wasn’t in control anymore – the wolf was ruling. But Stiles had enough research in his arsenal to appeal to Derek’s wolf if he needed too. Derek needed a pack right? Well. Stiles could do that. Easy. He knew what packs needed. He knew what the wolf needed.

 “Derek,” he said, his voice a slick, sickly honey, sweetly tempting, “you’re not gonna leave me here all alone are you? I’m your pack. I mean, I live with you, in your territory and I’ll look after you. We’re pack. And it’s not safe out there.”

Of course, he was competing with the call of an Alpha, the kind of call Derek had been listening and responding to for his _entire life._ It was literally in his bones to follow it and Stiles was trying to use a few tempting words to beat it out?

But it was his only chance. Der— _the wolf_ was looking at him, shining blue eyes focused on Stiles.

Derek could die. Gotta try.

“Come on buddy,” Stiles continued in the same tone, taking a small step forward, “you don’t want to leave. You want to stay here, with your pack, don’t you? Isn’t that what you said? Packs run together? I can’t run out there right now, but maybe next month we can. Right now, you need to stay here in our, uh, den okay. So we can be safe together.”

Stiles watched as the wolf moved Derek’s body as its own, because it was his own, slinking forward on hands and legs, breathing deeply though his noise.

_Scenting._

“We even smell like pack don’t we? We smell the same?” Stiles tried, edging forward cautiously. He reached out a hand, to rest it on Derek’s shoulder or something but before he could make contact the deep thundering roll of the Alpha’s howl sounded again, closer than before.

The wolf flew across the room towards the window, looking to spring out.

“Derek, _no!”_ Stiles shouted, and it was fearful and angry and demanding all at once.

There was a shattering crash as Derek smashed into the wood of the window frame, clawing at the wood before flipping and slamming his back into the frame, panting heavily and staring back at Stiles, his whole body quivering like it was trying to rip itself in half.

It was trying to follow two orders at once, to answer the Alpha call and respond to his pack-mate’s needs. Stiles needed to beat out the Alpha’s call. The call that only worked because Derek didn’t _have_ an Alpha. Stile sucked in a deep breath -- being persuading didn’t work but being forceful had a pretty decent effect. So maybe…

“ _No_. You’re _not_ leaving. _Stay_ ,” Stiles growled out and Derek _whimpered_ , and took a step forward, away from the window, away from the call of the rogue Alpha.

“You’re _my_ pack. Not his. He had _no_ claim over you. You’ll stay here with _me_. Understand?”

Derek came closer and Stiles tried not to be weirded out by the fact he walked on his hands and feet. He whined, long and high, and Stiles reached out when he was close enough, rubbing a hand over Derek’s shoulder and around to the back of his neck. Contact gave the wolf confidence and it pushed closer, shoving Derek’s face into Stiles stomach and pressing clawed hands into Stiles legs. Stiles hissed at the pain and Derek let out a new, pained sound when he smelt the blood.

Even though he was pretty positive Derek was staying now, he needed to re-enforce himself.

“I’m hurt. You won’t leave a pack member when their hurt, would you?” Stiles murmured, squeezing the back of Derek’s neck while the wolf sucked in deep breath after deep breath. He nuzzled against Stiles t-shirt in a way that could be interpreted as a head shaking and Stiles chose to believe that he was saying ‘no I wouldn’t leave’ with that motion and breathed out a sigh of relief. He leant forward, bending his torso over Derek and wrapping his arms around Derek’s back.

“Ohhh you’re gonna be _so_ angry with me tomorrow,” Stiles sighed, pressing his forehead to the top of Derek’s head and sending a silent prayer to his mother that he wasn’t completely fucking this up. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been positively swamped with work this week so sorry this is a wee bit late. Hopefully I'll be able to whip up the final chapter (and possibly an epilogue) faster.

Stiles woke up to Imagine Dragons welcoming him to the new age and fumbled for the alarm, shutting it off as quickly as possible before sinking back into the warmth of his bed with a groan. Early. Way too fucking early.

Derek had been crawling the walls (literally at one point) all night – he was less desperate to actually leave once Stiles had firmly stated he wasn’t allowed, but he was still packed full of the energy from the full moon and it was… an experience to say the least. He’d seemed settled, in a way, after he’d physically gone and rubbed himself all over the couch where Scott had been sitting and rid it of the bad Argent scent, and decided to alternate between running in circles around the house, performing various parts of Derek’s regular exercise routine in weird ass manners and rubbing himself up against Stiles for cuddles because he was _literally a cuddly puppy,_ Stiles was NEVER letting Derek live this down.

Of course, Derek had also been a werewolf with very, very sharp claws and a complete lack of ability to understand his own strength, so now Stiles was _exhausted_ from puppy-sitting (yes, he fully intended on calling it that in the future) and COVERED in bruises and tiny nicks and scratches. For the most part none of the wounds were that bad, nothing worse than tripping and rolling down a hill, the worst being the cutting in his thighs from Derek’s initial contact.

He was totally skipping school today. There was no way he was dealing with Harris AND the achy horribleness of pain. Plus, suicides in Lacrosse training? He was _so_ not dealing with that today.

Derek was lying beside him, an arm resting lightly across Stiles’ waist, having finally conked out around sunrise. He was blinking awake sleepily, yawning hugely, no-where near ready to deal with being actually awake, so Stiles threaded his fingers through Derek’s hair and grinned tiredly at the pleased hum that floated up to meet him while Derek’s eyes slipped shut once more.

When Derek’s breathing had levelled out Stiles slipped from his grip, his stomach grumbling. He paused before his mirror, catching sight of himself and freezing. He didn’t _feel_ that bad but he looked _awful_. He was shirtless, having lost the shirt somewhere around midnight, clad in jeans that were ripped and stained with blood over his thighs. The tiny cuts all over his body were layered with the bruises, and dried blood covered the surface of his skin like taken a roll around at a murder. There were bags under his eyes, which were bloodshot, and smears of blood on his cheek and chin and dabs on his lips where he’d bitten his tongue when Derek head-butted him unexpectedly hard.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, touching his stomach lightly. He twisted to get a look at his back, eyes widening when he saw more marks.

“Holy _shit_ ,” he hissed because these were going to hurt like a _bitch_ later, reaching to touch a particularly nasty looking cut on his shoulder. He looked like…

He looked like he’d spent the night locked up with an energetic werewolf was what he looked like.

“Stiles?”

Stiles whipped around so fast he stumbled, nearly falling over. He caught himself just in time to see Derek freeze in the act of rubbing his eye.

“It’s worse than it looks,” Stiles said quickly because Derek’s eyes were going wide and panicked and guilty and _aw crap_.

“You look like shit,” Derek says after a moment of careful deliberation and Stiles snorts.

“I’ve noticed.”

“You should probably shower,” he adds, taking shallow breaths through his mouth – it wouldn’t help, because there was dried blood stained all over the sheets, but it could reduce the smell a little.

“I’m about to do that. Go back to sleep, you were up all night.”

“So were you,” Derek argued and Stiles had the feeling he was arguing just because he _could._

Stiles took the mature road and stuck his tongue out at Derek before heading into the bathroom and turning the water on high.

All of the cuts stung and he hop scotched on the spot for a minute with his eyes winced shut until he could deal with it and then let the water just rush over him. He didn’t bother with the soap (because _ow)_ figuring he could always shower again in the afternoon when the cuts had had time to seal over.

Using the first aid kit over the sink, Stiles patched up the bigger cuts on this thighs before grabbing the box of multi-coloured band-aids (the Batman band-aids were for serious, crime related and/or height related incidents) and going to get clothes.

Derek wasn’t in the bedroom anymore when Stiles got out of the bathroom, but he could hear the older man moving around in his own room. Stiles guessed he was probably changing and gingerly pulled on some new jeans. He selected a shirt and carried it with him barefoot to the kitchen so he could eat and patch up at the same time.

He was chewing on a pop-tart and was twisting at an un-natural angle to put a band-aid on his lower back when Derek slinked into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said in a low voice, not meeting Stiles’ eyes, staring hard at the floor.

Stiles paused, quickly swallowing the last of his impromptu breakfast.

“Uh… okay?” he said uncertainly, “did you break something?”

Derek started, finally looking up, his eyebrows twisting oddly.

“For…” he waved a hand, “all that.”

Stiles looked down then up again, his face clearing.

“Oohhhhh. Don’t worry about it dude. S’not your fault.”

Stiles slapped the band-aid down, winced because that was _never_ smart, and plucked another from the box, sucking on his lip while he selected the next biggest wound worthy of the plastic patch. He was becoming a rainbow coloured sticky pad. It was kind of awesome.

“What do you mean,” Derek said slowly, almost making Stiles jump, “it’s not my fault. I did that. How can it possibly not be my fault.”

Stiles shrugged, the band-aid on his shoulder coming up with the movement and he patted it down.

“I locked you in the house man. I knew what I was getting into. And they don’t actually hurt, just look bad – you’re practically a cuddly puppy when you’re all wolfed out, you’re just a sharp cuddly puppy. It’s not like you came at me and I had to fight you off or anything. They’re pretty much my fault. Don’t sweat it, s’all cool,” Stiles nodded, grinning, but Derek was just staring at him. It was all a little too weird so Stiles just continued about his band-aiding business.

“Why do you keep doing that,” he said suddenly and Stiles really did jump this time before freezing.

“Uh, because band-aids are an integral part of the human healing process?”

“You keep making excuses for me.”

Stiles frowned.

“I’m not making excuses for you. Dude, I locked an energetic werewolf in my house, I expected this. You’re not in the wrong here.”

“You’re hurt, I did it.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t your fault. There’s a difference.”

“How can you not see the problem here?”

Stiles straightened up in his seat. This was obviously going to be an issue.

“Because there’s no problem? You managed to stay mostly in control for most of the night, I trust you enough not to, ya know, rip me into tiny little pieces and bathe in my blood or whatever. Plus, added bonus of you or your wolf or whatever listens to me. So even if you were going to rip me into tiny little pieces and bathe in my blood, I’m pretty sure I could get you to stop.”

Derek squinted.

“You really did that didn’t you.”

“You lost me again dude.”

Derek moved quickly, his hand flying towards Stiles’ face and making the younger boy flail backwards, arms coming up in defence and nearly fall off the stool – Derek caught him at the last second, saving him from a broken neck.

“What the hell?!”

“I can’t hurt you,”

“Well, good!” Stiles snapped, smacking Derek’s hands off his wrists and slipping off the stool to the safety of the ground.

“No, I _can’t hurt you._ Not even if I _try._ All my instincts balk because you haven’t done anything wrong. I just have this insane urge to—“ he cut off, looking horrified.

“To what?”

Curiosity killed the cat. Well, the Stiles, but eh.

“Nothing,” Derek muttered, turning away and Stiles lurched forward, catching his arm.

“Oh no, no, no you don’t get to go all silent and brooding on me now Sourwolf. Remember what happened last time you kept information from me? Scott on the full moon happened. Share with the class.”

“It’s not important,” Derek growled and Stiles laughed hollowly,

“Don’t even bother with _that_ growliness mister, I have your number and that is _useless_ ,”

“ _Drop. It._ Stiles,” Derek ripped his arm out of Stiles grip.

“Stop _hiding_ things from me when they concern me and maybe I’ll be able to in the future! Now I’m awful thrilled you can’t actually kill me but a little _why_ would be nice!”

“No,” Derek let out and it was purely stubborn.

“Damn it Derek,” Stiles yelled, his fist hitting the table for emphasis and Derek flinched away with an actual physical movement, his eyes flashing blue, “just _tell me!”_

“You’re my Alpha,” Derek shouted in return, but it was harsh and jagged like the words were ripped from him without his consent.

Stiles went very still and Derek bristled. No. He’d just calmed Derek down, he hadn’t actually…

“But I’m human,”

“I know! It shouldn’t be possible! Do you know how much danger you just put yourself in? How much you just put _both_ of us in?”

“Dude don’t yell at me I didn’t even know I was doing it! Well, I did, but I didn’t know it would _stick_ , I was just trying to help you,”

“Well maybe you should stop!”

“Why?”

“Because you should!”

“Then _explain why!”_ Stiles shouted back because there was a lot of yelling and he refused to be the first to quiet down. Derek did another semi-violent flinch, his eyes flashing electric blue and Stiles got the feeling he’d just made a very big mistake.

“I don’t know you want from me!”

Derek’s voice was raw when he spoke and his eyes were panicked. He looked like he was trying to take a step backwards but just couldn’t move his feet.

Stiles raised his hands in surrender, confused.

“Nothing? You needed help Derek, that’s all,”

 “I’m not a good person,” Derek said suddenly, like he was begging Stiles to understand, switching gears so fast it made Stiles’ head spin, “I killed my whole family.”

 “What? You didn’t kill your fami—“

“Yes I did! I did. It’s my fault.”

“Not everything is your fault Derek,”

“That was,”

“N-“

“I let a hunter into the house,” Derek burst out, the words exploding out of him and making Stiles flinch away, “it was my fault because she said she _loved me_ and I believed her. And I let her in! I let her _in the house_ , she _saw it,_ she knew how to get in and finish us off because of _me!”_

Heavy silence pressed on their ears for a second after Derek’s borderline hysterical outburst. He had a hilariously shocked look on his face, as though he’d been thinking one thing and said another, but it didn’t last long. It crumbled, horrified and shameful and guilty, not closing off but _exploding_ with a hundred tiny, painful emotions.

“Who ar… oh my god.”

Derek stumbled backwards, completely changing once more. He was breaking up, everything he wasn’t allowed to feel sledgehammering into him all at once, but he couldn’t stop speaking, because the Alpha had made a demand and he had to meet it, he had to _explain_ _why_.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, sorry for so many things.

“Kate. Kate Argent.”

Disgust rolled off Stiles in waves, rage tinting the edges and Derek’s wolf was desperate for approval, begging for forgiveness, because it didn’t matter what Stiles wanted, what he was going to try and take because Derek had _nothing_ to lose _except_ for Stiles, and now it was too late to take it back.

He was always too late to take back his mistakes.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t _know_ ,”

“Jesus Christ, you were just a kid,”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—“

Derek was shaking his head, walking backwards, trying to get away from Stiles, from the look on his face and the smell coming off him, he couldn’t deal with it, not again, another pack turning away from him, another pack leaving him, all his fault…

And then Stiles’ arms were around him, pulling him into a tight hug, hands running over his back and whispers being uttered soothingly in his ear.

“It’s not your fault Derek, it’s never been your fault,”

“Yes it _was_ ,”

“No, it was hers, all hers. She _used_ you,”

“I should have _known_ ,”

“You couldn’t have known Derek you were just a _child_ for god sake. She _manipulated_ you,”

“She picked _me_ because she _knew_ I’d be the easiest, the weakest,”

“No, Der, no, that’s not true,”

“She knew I was who she needed and I just gave it to her, believed everything, hook, line and sinker, I just… _she said she loved me._ She took EVERYTHING from me! I lost _EVERYTHING!_ My mom and dad, my brother, my cousin, my aunt and uncle, my _sister,_ oh my god, she was a _baby_ , she could barely talk yet, she’d never hurt _anyone_ , she was _human_ ,”

Tears were coming thick and fast now but there was no stopping them, no stopping Derek from crashing on.

“Derek,”

“I killed them! All of them! For a couple of cheap words and a shitty fuck in the back of a car. I killed my whole family, my whole pack. And Laura…”

He choked on a sob and Stiles pulled him closer, letting them sink to the floor, cradling Derek in his lap.

“S-she never s-should have _been_ here, I was s-supposed to come but, I didn’t, I couldn’t... It was _my_ responsibility and I just l-let her go! And n-now s-she’s gone and I...”

Derek’s words died, his whole body convulsing as he tried to curl in on himself. He _sobbed_ , heaving for air that he just couldn’t get past his throat, and all Stiles could do was hang on and let him.

“I… can’t… breathe…”

“Shit,” Stiles pushed himself back, trying to give Derek some space and Derek scrambled backwards until he hit the wall behind him before pulling himself up into a ball.

“I need you to breathe Derek okay? Breathe with me, focus on my breathing and breathe with me come on. Just breathe, you can talk when you get your breath back,” Stiles instructed calmly, listening to how Derek’s breath stuttered and caught and was desperately ragged if he managed to suck any into his body at all. He put his forehead on his knees, his arms wrapped around them tightly, while he tried to breathe in and seemed to improve for a minute before another convulsion rocketed though his body and the sobs picked up double time, wracking his frame and then he was talking again, desperate and begging and heartbreaking,

“I… just… want… my… sister… _back,”_ he forced out with each desperate breath, “I want… my _family…_ back. I want… to stop… being _angry_ at… everything… I want… it to stop… hurting _,”_ he struggled in a deeper breath, like he couldn’t stop talking, even though he couldn’t find the air to get the words out.

“I want to mom and dad to hug me a-and I want Jeremy t-to call me an idiot and I want Emma to _learn h-how to say my name_ and I want Laura to smack me over the he-head and smile and I want them to be _h-happy_ but they can’t because they’re _dead_ they’re _g-gone_ and they _left me here_ because it’s _all my fault_ a-and _you_ , you’re just here and you keep he-helping and smiling a-and looking at me like I’m _worth_ something when I’m not, I’m not, and I don’t understand why you would b-because they were so much b-better than me, _so_ much better th-than I ever _could_ be and I _k-killed_ them, and you’re still here like I _deserve_ you a-a-and I don’t understand what you want, I d-don’t understand _why,”_

Stiles was _not_ qualified to handle this. He could feel tears tracking down his own face, feel himself shaking lightly, and he didn’t know what to do, what to say that would help. He took a few deep breaths, using Derek’s silence (caused only by the desperate need of air around the words and sobs) to try and put things together in his mind.

He’d only known this guy for a week, technically speaking, if you didn’t could the month of bro nod’s before this.

He could walk away.

Without a backwards glance.

He owed no obligation here.

Just say ‘I can’t handle this’ and walk away.

He could.

“You deserve me,” is what he said instead, kneeling down a respectable distance, but close enough to be a focus, “because it wasn’t your fault. You’re a _good man_ ,” he ignored Derek’s soft, whining cry of _‘no_ ,’ powering on, “who has had a bunch of bad shit happen to him. In fact you deserve someone better than me, someone who can actually give you what you need, someone who won’t be lost and confused, because you are _so_ brave Derek. You’re so brave, and so strong, because you’re still fighting on. You lost everything, everyone you love and you’re still here, fighting, living, keeping going. If I didn’t have my dad… to be honest? I wouldn’t have a reason for being here. Scott would move on. I could throw in the towel. But you didn’t, because you’re so much stronger and braver than I ever could be. You face that pain every god damn day and keep going.”

 “You deserve so much more than me because you’re saving me as much as I’m helping you. You’re giving me another reason to _be_ here. You’re showing me how to keep fighting. And that’s fucking selfish but I don’t care. You want to know what I want from you? I want _you_. I want you to be able to wake up in the morning and not wonder if it’s worth getting out of bed today. I want you to have something to look forward to. I want you to live again. I want you to _smile_ , a proper fucking smile, and laugh a proper laugh. Because it’s not your fault Derek. I can’t just say that and make you believe it, but you know what? I’m not going anywhere and I have a lifetime to _prove_ it. And I promise you, I will. Every single day, I will prove to you that you’re a good man and that you deserve the fucking world, I promise you, and I will be here, I will be your pack, even if you try to force me away, I will stay by your side. We’re _pack_ and I will be your pack for life.”

Derek lifted his head to still hiccupping on air, looking at Stiles with unfocused and watery eyes. His face was a mess, blotchy and red, his nose running, his cheeks wet.

“You can stop explaining. I understand. But I’m going to keep helping you because we’re pack. That’s what an Alpha does, right? Protects their pack?

“Pack,” he choked out and Stiles nodded and gave a weak smile.

“Pack.”

Derek launched himself forward again, crushing himself to Stiles chest, toppling Stiles over but neither of them cared very much while they clung to each other.

It didn’t matter that Derek was a werewolf, that he was some supernatural creature, that he was meant to be some kind of monster that hid in the dark. Because this? This was grief. Grief and guilt and horror and pain and Derek was so desperately, horribly, unbelievably _human_.

He’d done this, Stiles knew that, worked it out when Derek had listened even through his crying. Derek had _reacted,_ not as a human but as a beta – following Stiles orders right down to the _breathing_. That… was so unhealthy. _So_ unhealthy. But he’d walked into this willingly, hadn’t he? Chased Derek down, forced him into the house, set himself up into a position that made Derek rely on him, but that had made him _needed_ , made him useful. He’d all but manipulated Derek, taken a vulnerable person and made them moreso.

Did that make him like Kate?

Stiles had always wondered if he would be capable of harming another person intentionally. He knew in theory that he could if someone put his dad in danger he would act without hesitation, but he had always wondered if he would be capable of something methodical, of looking a person and knowing he wanted to cause them pain and then _acting_ on it. Holding Derek to his chest, feeling the way he clawed for air and struggled around sobs, he realized, he could. He could, if he had the opportunity, hold Kate Argent down and slowly cut her open. That he would, if he had the chance, make her pay for every life she took, for every smile she stole, or every unmade memory, for every unsaid word, and every untaken breath. He would watch her bleed and watch her cry and watch her beg for what she couldn’t have and he would _enjoy_ it.

And he’d enjoy it not just because he would be able to hurt her, but because he could see himself in her and that was terrifying– he saw someone emotionally vulnerable and placed himself into a powerful position above them. He’d manipulated Derek, used his need for pack and safety and family to make himself what? Useful? Derek was sitting there thinking he was the worst person in the world but all he’d done is fall in love – he hadn’t manipulated other people, like Stiles and Kate both had for their own selfish reasons. He could kill her and feel nothing because on some level, he was just like her and she could do the same.

But the difference was, for all of his selfishness, and personal reasoning, he would end Kate for coming _near_ Derek in the first place. Stiles was selfishly motivated but also trying to help. Kate was just a destructive force and Derek… well Derek was _his_ right? His pack? His Beta? It was natural to want to eviscerate someone who threatened that.

And that should scare him, being so viciously protective of someone he technically barely knew.

Instead, it just made him feel very calm.

Because now, now he had a plan – and while murdering Kate Argent _wasn’t_ a part of it, he could always settle on it as a healthy and enthusiastic plan B.

\------------

They ended up in the lounge room, Stiles lying on the couch with Derek flopped on his chest. The older man wasn’t sleeping, but his eyes were closed and his face relaxed while Stiles thumb rubbed circles into the back of his neck. The sun traced a long line across the room, and Stiles watched it move slowly up their bodies, talking quietly. He didn’t even know what he was saying. He was just talking for the sake of it, comforted by the familiar sound of his own voice.

The phone rang shrilly from the coffee table when the sun was at Derek’s mid back and Stiles reached for it awkwardly.

“Hello?” His voice was unintentionally croaky and he cleared it with a cough.

“Stiles?”

Stiles straightened up slightly and Derek shifted to accommodate him.

“Dad?”

“The school called. Are you sick? You don’t sound so good.”

Stiles swallowed and forced his voice into back into the croaky sound from before even though it made his throat tickle.

“Yeah. I’m fine though. Just a bug. If it gets too bad, I’ll go see Ms. McCall.”

His father’s heavy sigh travelled down the phone to him.

“I wish I could come home earlier.”

“No, Dad. You’re home tomorrow morning anyway. I’ll be fine by then… I think it’s mostly because I slept really terribly.”

He could practically hear his Dad nodding on the other end of the phone.

“Have you been up late messing around?”

Stiles looked down at Derek, who had his eyes open and his chin resting in the middle of Stiles chest.

“That depends on your definition of messing around,”

“Stiles,”

“I’ve been good. Just tired.”

“Well. Get some rest. I’ll be home tomorrow. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too. Keep out of trouble.”

Stiles tossed the phone back on the table when he’d hung up, looking down at Derek’s entertained expression. All evidence of the earlier breakdown were gone, his eyes not swollen or bloodshot, his cheeks a normal pale. Lucky bastard and his wolf healing.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“You lie really easy,” Derek mumbled out and Stiles attemptd a shrug and failed.

“Cop’s kid. They notice _everything.”_

Stiles grinned as Derek rolled his eyes and they settled back into a comfortable silence. Stiles ran his fingers up and down Derek’s arm a few times and Derek’s eyes followed them until they stilled, his eyes flicking back up to Stiles’ face.

“Soo… dramatic couple of days, hu.”

Derek snorted and Stiles smiled a little, rubbing his thumb over Derek’s arm.

“Really though. Are you…”

“I’m fine,”

“Don’t bullshit me Der, I swear to god I will _bite_ you,”

“Really? Bite me?”

Stiles didn’t say anything, knowing if he let himself he’d just demand that Derek answer him, but tried to give Derek a stern look.

Derek let out a long breath though his nose.

“I _will_ be fine. It’s… better.”

“I’ll try not to do _that_ again,” Stiles offers quietly, “I didn’t mean too. I’ll… work on it in the future. I don’t know what triggered it. Don’t Alpha wolves have to do something… uh… wolfy?”

“Laura would flash her eyes sometimes. Mom would just yell, like you. It’s more of an instinct thing. When the Alpha is upset you want to fix it – if they’re upset and give an order you _have_ to follow it. I mean, if it endangers your own life you can fight the instinct but it’s still hard. I don’t think it’ll happen every time you ask me to do something… I think it’s just because my wolf is on edge, and is trying extra hard to please you so when you got upset and told me to explain it became kind of… uh… everything.”

“Sorry,” Stiles added again, wincing.

Derek rubbed his face ( _puppy._ Angry, emotionally constipated, completely adorable _puppy_ ) into Stiles chest.

“S’okay. Think I needed that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was that or becoming like the rogue.”

“What? Eventually going crazy and killing people?” 

“Kind of. Rogues are just packless wolves who go mad. I’d be halfway there.” 

Stiles smiled lightly, pleased that Derek was calling him pack in a roundabout way, and continued.

“Well maybe if you uh, you know, express stuff more regularly, in little intervals, then you’ll be less likely react so extremely and, you know…”

“Collapse into a sobbing heap in the middle of the kitchen?” Derek suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles smiled weakly and gave a nervous laugh.

“Ha. Yeah. That. And, you know, the full moon didn’t help,”

“No, it didn’t,” Derek shook his head

“And you’ve got the world’s shittest Alpha, I mean, I don’t even know how I got the position and I’m totally underqualified, I’m not even a wolf,”

“Yeah, I do,” he smirked and Stiles rolled his eyes but continued,

“And let’s face it; the universe knows how to throw shit at you like it’s nobody’s business. So. We can take everything that’s happened in the last forty-eight hours as a learning experience and move on from that. We’ll work on this together, figure it out. You can’t close me out but I can’t just demand my way in either. We can improve ourselves so next month is better.”

“What happened last night that… that doesn’t happen every month. That’s not what the full moon is meant to be like.”

Stiles did another half shrug, inhibited by the couch.

“You were scared and hurting and the full moon just... reflected that I guess.”

Derek let out another noisy breath.

“The next moon will be better,” he settles on, his voice confident and Stiles grins.

“I’ll get a ball for you to chase.”

“Stiles, I swear to god,” Derek growled.

“Don’t swear to god, he slash she hasn’t done anything wrong,” Stiles replied with a touch of mocking, his grin widening. 

Derek snorted.

“I beg to differ,”

“Well, if you wanna _beg_ me…” Stiles drawled, raising an eyebrow and his darting tongue dampening smirking lips. Derek swallowed but covered well with a raised eyebrow of his own.

The wolf loved the idea of it, even if the human side of him balked in the face of a never ending list of fears and disaster. Of course, Derek realized that Stiles wasn’t even intentionally flirting with him and it was making the back of his neck prickle up. If the kid put his mind to it? He was screwed. Probably in more than just a metaphorical way, if he was being honest with himself.

“Well that was awkward,” Stiles let out and Derek laughed. Actually laughed, not a chuckle or a snort but real laughter and Stiles decided making an idiot of himself wasn’t so bad.

\--------

It took another half an hour to convince Derek to go and take a real nap because he was exhausted from the full moon and emotionally drained. Stiles didn’t even comment when Derek flopped himself down on Stiles’ bed, just pulled on his shirt and made Derek sleepily recite the emergency plans for when he was home alone (Stiles had put them in place in case a hunter came around – Derek was to get out as fast as he could and call the police anonymously as soon as possible about someone sneaking around the house, and then immediately call Stiles and tell him that “the dog has run away.” It wasn’t much of a plan and Derek had glared when it was suggested but it existed and that’s all that was important.) Then he smoothed back Derek’s hair like a mother hen and told him he’d be back soon, and left. There was a second of hesitation before he pulled Derek’s leather jacket off the back of the computer chair and slipped it on like a safety net.

He felt a bit like an idiot, because he was unarmed and unprepared and fuelled completely by anger and just a hint of rational but he was doing this.

The door of the jeep slammed hard when he got out, alerting anyone inside the house to his arrival if the sound of his jeep hadn’t already done that. He knew they were home because the SUV that Chris was so fond of sat in the drive before Stiles’ jeep.

Still, he walked up to the door and ran the bell, pushing his hands into the pockets of Derek’s jacket and smiled his best ‘I am friendly now but I will cut you’ smile (that he may or may have not perfected in the mirror in the 9th grade because he’d wanted to be an actor then, but whatever) when the door swung open.

“Howdy Chris. How ya been?” He asked as he pushed forward, carefully and quickly slipping past Chris without touching him and whistling as he stood in the foyer.

“Nice place,”

The door slammed shut behind him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Chris, who-“ Kate paused on her way down the stairs and Stiles felt his smile get a little toothier.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere supervised so you can get your dipper changed?” Kate drawled, quickly overcoming her shock and sauntering down the last few stairs.

“Shouldn’t you be drinking formaldehyde to stay preserved?” Stiles shot back before turning back to face Chris, who’s jaw was set, “I figured I’d be better off coming around when Allison wasn’t home. She’s such a smart girl; she’d ask questions. And we don’t want her getting all mixed up in this now do we?”

A muscle ticked in Chris’s jaw and Stiles moved himself into the lounge room, looking curiously at the photos on the mantle.

“Hu, she wasn’t kidding about the archery thing,” he murmured to himself while the Argent’s gathered themselves together. Chris cleared his throat.

“As wonderful as it is for you to stop by uninvited, it would be great to know what you are doing here,” he asked.

“See, that’s why I like you Chris. Even when I barge into your home you’re still polite. It’s so hard to find nefarious people with manners these days,” Stiles flopped on the couch, the picture of ease, “and I’m here because I want to re-instigate the Hale treaty, or rather, a version of it,” he brushed an invisible piece of lint off his jeans and then sat back, watching.

This was a dangerous game. He only knew the barebones about the Hale treaty from what he’d been able to squeeze out of Derek a few nights ago, but he could make it work.

He watched the Argent siblings exchange looks, Kate of anger and Chris of consideration before Chris moved to sit on the couch opposite. Kate remained standing, stalking slightly closer.

“Your terms?” He said, all business and Stiles let himself follow suit.

“You don’t bother us, we don’t bother you.”

Kate snorted.

“That’s not how it works,” she shot.

“Why not,” Stiles asked with a raised eyebrow, “it’s only got two parts. Come on Katie, I knew you were slow but it’s just pathetic that you can’t grasp that concept.”

Kate took a vicious step forward, her hand flying to her bare waist and froze at Chris’s sharp ‘Kate.’ 

Stiles returned his focus to Chris.

“The wolf that’s been causing trouble,” he asked and Stiles cut him off,

“Rogue. I’m almost certain it’s an Alpha, considering it killed Laura. You have full support from the Hale pack to eliminate the threat and we’ll assist in any way we can.”

“Will you now,”

Stiles leaned forward in his seat, his elbows resting on his knees.

“I’ll break it down for you since Katie over there needs some assistance. Hunters don’t come near us. No more gas station meetings. No more grocery store catch ups. If we walk past each other on the street we ignore each other. Be civil if we need to, but preferably no interaction. You take out the rogue, we help if we can, but other than that we stay out of each other’s business; if anything else comes through town, one of us will inform the other and whoever is more prepared can deal with it. We don’t want any trouble, we just want to be left alone.”

“Define we,” Chris asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Derek. Myself. My father. Scott.”

“Scott? Allison’s boyfriend?” Kate interrupted, instantly alert.

“Also my best friend, so he’s on the list. I would add Allison as well, but I assume you wouldn’t harm one of your own.”

Chris nodded slowly.

“And what about when Hale decides he wants more wolves in his pack? You’re human,” he adds, like an insult.

“So are you,” Stiles shoots back, “and you know just as well as I do that being human is not some kind of disqualifier. We don’t need more wolves.”

Kate snorted and made a comment about ‘bitches’ under her breath. Stiles ground his teeth.

“ _And_ if you need some kind of reassurance,” he continues, carefully not looking at her, “we can’t add wolves to our pack unless we adopt rogues, and we have no intention of doing so.”

“Ahhh,” Kate said, her grin coming easily now, “because there’s no Alpha in your pack. Just an Omega and his pet.”

“Kate,” Chris said warningly and Kate gave him a look.

“What. It’s true.”

“Stiles’ is the Alpha,” Chris said with the smallest hint of respect, barely a glimmer, and Stiles refused to flinch at the fact that Chris knew his name without being told. It was obvious that he would have tried to work it out. Stiles himself probably just gave it away by listing Scott and Allison as his pack.

“He’s human,” Kate laughed.

“Really,” Stiles sighed, rolling his eyes, “I thought I’d already pointed out why that wasn’t an issue.”

“A real Alpha wouldn’t make a habit of walking into the home of their enemy, kid,” she sneered, leaning against the couch, apparently accepting him as a non-threat.

“Funny,” he offered back politely, “you walked into the home of yours. Perhaps I’m simply following your example,” he watched with satisfaction as her eyes flickered to Chris, who looked confused, (ahhh, so he _didn't_ know), “of course, I find knocking on the door _so_ much quicker and simpler than your preferred method of entry, wouldn’t you agree?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Chris demanded, standing up slowly.

“Oh, you know, just… catching up,” Stiles drawled. He returned his focus to Chris.

“Irrespective of whatever we settle on for the treaty, the Hale pack requests that your sister leave the territory, and by requests,” he powers through Kate’s outburst of anger, “we mean highly recommend and heavily suggest _._ By Monday morning every officer in Beckon Hills will be on alert for her. Consider it the generosity of the Hale Pack that we’re allowing her the chance to leave and escape the inevitable prosecution for a while longer.”

“What,” Chris started while Kate hissed, “you don’t have any evidence.”

Kate’s words forced Chris into stillness.

“Kate, what did you do?” He asked suspiciously.

Stiles stood and the siblings moved defensively but didn’t actually attack.

“I think I’ll go, leave Katie to explain her mess. If she doesn’t, I’m sure you can always ask the officers who come around on Monday what the eight counts of first degree murder are about,” he offered Chris his hand, “I’ll speak to you again soon. We’ll make up some papers for the treaty, something a little more official than word of mouth. I’d hate a repeat of last time,” he added with a pointed look at Kate, who was bristling. She was a wild one, probably desperate to lash out.

But Stiles hadn’t done anything _directly_ against her in a way that meant that she could. She would need her brother’s support as soon as Stiles was out the door and she couldn’t afford to compromise herself.

Stiles refused to drop his hand until Chris took it and shook it once.

Then he nodded, turned on his heel and left without a backwards glance. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the one time he didn't have to
> 
> (Derek defends himself [and Stiles])

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS IS LATE! I've been working like crazy and school and tired and blag. Excuses, excuses. I'm not even 100% happy with this chapter but I'm like 80% happy and I don't want to you wait any longer so that's enough. Epilogue to come. Think of that as a pun, because it'll have porn ;) But also final explanations, some Stilinski family feels, a lil' bit of romance and a whole lotta sass. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this and liked it, and to everyone who read it and didn't. Just thanks.

Stiles stripped, dropping his clothes in the laundry and dropping Derek’s jacket in his room before finding some of Derek’s clothes and pulling them on. It wouldn’t hide the Argent scent but it would at least cover it a little, make him smell more like pack than enemy.

“Deeerrrrrr,” he sing-songed, just to be annoying, as he wandered from Derek’s room to his own, where Derek had cocooned himself in the covers. The elder blinked at him from under the blankets for a moment before pulling them back enough for Stiles to wriggle under beside him.

“You smell,” he said, his voice tight, but he didn’t immediately get angry or defensive. Progress!

“Don’t worry Derbear. I was safe – and now we’re both safe.”

He felt Derek tense, then relax, and then sigh.

“What did you do?”

“Gee, nice defeated voice,”

“Stiles,”

Stiles pushed himself under Derek’s arm, laying across his chest because regardless of what Derek liked to grumble he was a sucker for cuddles.

“I reinstated the treaty. Well… not yet. I’m going to, officially and formally. As formal as you can get when dealing with mythical creatures and the people who kill them.”

“The treaty doesn’t mean safety Stiles. It’s just words to hunters.”

“Which is why we need to send a message,” Stiles sat up and Derek pushed himself up as well, noting Stiles’ serious eyes.

“What _kind_ of message?” Derek asked like he was disabling a bomb.

“We’re putting Kate away. For life.”

Derek’s face flashed several emotions before settling on confusion, and Stiles spoke again before he could start the questions dancing around his mind.

“You need to come clean to Dad. Kate did what she did and she’s not God – there has to be evidence, has to be something, and she can’t have been clean for her entire life. At the very least they’ll put her under arrest for suspicion for 48 hours until we can find something. We just need to point them in the right direction Der. They won’t, haven’t, think twice about her unless there’s a reason for it. My Dad will keep looking if you give him something, _anything_.”

Derek ran a hand over his face.

“I haven’t… you’re the only one who knows that Stiles and I wouldn’t have told you if I’d had the choice,” Stiles winced, “I don’t know if I can just… tell… everyone.”

“Well maybe just Dad? If he knows where to look it won’t take long for him to find something substantial. Kate can’t have done this alone either. An accomplice would roll on her if given that offer.”

“How is putting Kate away supposed to help us?”

“It tells the hunters that if you break the code, you’re also breaking the law – and the law is on _our_ side.”

“You mean one cop is on our side.”

Stiles grinned and cocked his head to the side in a contemplative manner that made Derek very nervous.

“About that… how do you feel about uniforms?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Don’t forget to—“

“Peel the potatoes before I mash them, and don’t forget the cream, yes I know Stiles. I _can_ cook.”

Stiles gave him a sceptical look, pausing while pulling on his jacket.

“You can cook?”

“Amazing I know, what will I learn next.”

“Someone’s feeling sassy today,”

“Yeah, well it’s a Saturday,” Derek shrugged and Stiles grinned.

“Sure you don’t want to come? I’ll let you stick your head out the window and everything.”

“I have to cook dinner, remember? I can’t do that in the car on the way to the airport. And _you_ have to tell him about me – I probably shouldn’t be there for that.”

Stiles scrunched up his nose, his tongue peeking out between his teeth and his keys jangling as he messed with them and Derek allowed himself a sharp, snarky smirk.

“Maybe you should just hide in the closet or something.”

“Five fifteen,” Derek says, looking at the clock and Stiles swears and dashes towards the door.

“Be good! Don’t piddle on the carpet while I’m gone!”

“Drive safe moron!”

“I am an _unbelievable_ driver!”

“Unbelievably bad.”

Stiles stopped and Derek actually winced.

“That… I am actually ashamed of you for making that joke.”

Derek made a ‘me too, whachya gonna do about it’ face and glanced at the clock again. 

“Five seventeen,”

“BYE,”

\-----------------------

“So Dad, you know Derek? Hale? The Derek Hale? Well I’ve been… no. Okay. Okay. Dad. You always told me one is an incident, two is a coincidence and three is a pattern right? So… no, fuck,” Stiles slammed the wheel, chewing on his lip as pulled to a stop at a red light.

“Dad, how do you feel about a new room-mate? He’s really well trained and I promise to walk him!”

Stiles snorted to himself and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“This is going to go _so_ badly,” he muttered, taking a deep breath and pulling on the shift stick as the light turned green. The jeep gunned and spluttered.

“Damn it, come on baby,” he begged, and with one last cough the engine evened out and lurched forward into the intersection.

“Haha!” he cheered, fist-pumping the air.

He glanced slightly to the side, checking the intersection for coming traffic in a way that would make his dad proud (nobody had to know that he was checking after he moved into the intersection) and just barely saw a streak of black rushing through a red light.

“Shi—“

The car shuttered, the whole frame crumpling in on the side as Stiles swung forward, his head smashing into the wheel, the seatbelt catching him at the last second and whipping him back into the seat. The jeep span wildly, and he smacked into the door frame, his eyes closed tight. He felt the world rotate, heard the tires squeal and metal creaking. The frame crumbled into his chair, a stabbing pain throughout his back and legs until it all stopped, everything, the whole world.

\--------

“Can you hear me? Hello?”

Stiles groaned, moving an arm slowly and whimpering when pain radiated down his entire body.

“You’re alive? Thank god. I called an ambulance, but… your car is leaking. Can I… you need to get out.”

Stiles turned towards the voice – it was young, male, vaguely familiar and panicked – trying to open his eyes. He squeezed them shut again almost instantly when they stung with blood.

“I… I don’t… know…” he gasped out – his chest hurt, his seatbelt pressing tight against aching ribs.

“Okay. Okay, I’m coming in.”

“Wh… no,” Stiles protested, but it was weak. He heard metal creaking, and a short gasp.

“Get… away…” he tried again, trying to get his words out. The car was leaking – it could explode.

“No, I’m—“ the voice was closer now, cutting off for a second in a curse. There was a light click and the car shuttered as the other boy slipped on something and then there was a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“Oh boy,” the voice whispered and the hand fluttered over Stiles chest for a moment before reaching for the belt lock. It didn’t budge, and Stiles groaned as the pulling on the belt across his chest grew tighter.

“I’m going to have to cut it,” the boy mumbled and with a snap the belt came free; Stiles barely had a chance to start falling in the odd angle before the boy caught him.  

“I… the car is on its side,” well that explained why the world was at the wrong angle, “I’ll have to lift you out. Does anything… I mean, I’m sure… look. How does your neck feel?”

Stiles’ was confused for about a minute before realizing what he was being asked and dread trickled in alongside the pain.

“Good,” he rasped, “I’ll… risk it.”

“Right,” the other voice was stronger and more determined now, and an arm manoeuvred itself around Stiles’ back, pulling him up under his shoulders. He let out a gasp of pain which ended in a whimper and the voice by his ear quickly apologised.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’ll be quick,” Stiles remained limp, his eyes squeezed shut, wishing to pass out again as he was dragged across the upholstery. The other boy panted and grunted, sliding on the slick leather as he pulled Stiles up with him.

“Okay. This—yeah, this is going to hurt,” the boy said and Stiles sucked in a deep breath in preparation for the unknown pain. The weight supporting his shoulders disappeared for a moment, and there was a grunt before he was being pulled, his neck partially supported. He was weightless for a second and it was like a breath of fresh air before he jolted against the tarmac, arms supporting him once more, and couldn’t help the cry of pain he let out. The boy quickly laid him flat, spreading him out.

“Sorry, sorry, I know. I got to get you… oh, hey… Hey! Hey, Miss, can you help?” Stiles winced at the sudden volume in his ear, “he’s hurt and the car’s leaking! We have to move him!”

“Aw, kiddo,” Stiles’ blood turned to ice at the familiar purr, squinting through the pain to confirm his fears, “I would but... this is really convenient for me.”

“I… what? What are you…”

“Go,” Stiles coughed out, trying to push the boy who was hovering near his head away unsuccessfully, “go,”

Stiles could smell the gas, hear sirens in the distance.

“This was just a perfect coincidence! I was leaving and who just _happens_ to be at the same stop. The little Alpha pet! I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity – alone, on a back road intersection? And young drivers can be so careless…”

“M-miss? We ne…” Kate lifted her hand and grinned; there was a click and Stiles’ heart was sinking fast, “is that a lighter?! What the hell are you doing?” Stiles felt hands pulling on his shoulders, dragging him across the ground but he was helpless. 

“Sorry kid. You know that saying about wrong place, wrong time? Well… you’re in it.”

She stepped closer to the car.

“What are… fuck! Shit! Are you _crazy?!_ You’re gonna blow us up!”

“K-Kate… stop… he doesn’t… know… anything… let him… go…”

“I’m not some half-hearted attempt at a beta kiddo. I don’t listen to you.”

Stiles could hear the sirens getting closer – he just needed time, just needed to stall…

“What’s two more? Who’s going to know, huh? Derek… but he’ll just lose it without his Alpha. Another Alpha dead and gone – it’d be better to put a rogue risk like that down.”

“No,” he choked and tried to scramble backwards, help the boy out. He wasn’t doing much.

They were further away now, not by much, but slightly. The boy dragging him – blonde, lean, but strong and determined – was still going, still trying to save him when the smartest option would be to drop him and get to safety.

Stiles wished he knew the boy’s name. They were probably going to die here – if the explosion didn’t kill them, Kate would. Loose ends that needed to be cut.

Stiles could see the red and blue lights flashing against the trees but they were too far down the road.

“Tell the Hales I’ll take _good_ care of their son.”

“NO!”

Stiles felt the arms pulling him straining, hauling him across the tarmac, across broken glass and tiny rocks that sunk into his clothes and skin as he was pulled, but he knew he wasn’t moving fast enough. He tried to help, to push with his legs, anything, but he felt helpless and heavy.

He heard the metal of Kate’s lighter hit the ground, like a pin drop in an empty room.

It wasn’t like in the movies, when things burned slowly for a moment before everything blew up. There was no time for a breath of hope that it hadn’t worked, that the flames hadn’t caught. In the space of one heartbeat to the next, the world around them lit up.

The heat of it was the worst – it blasted over them, touching without burning, the sound leaving the world a muddled dullness, the light of it forcing his eyes shut.

It didn’t last long.

Something heavy and solid punched into his side and the pain of it was unbearable for only a second before there was no pain at all.

\-----------------

Stiles woke to the sound of snoring. He was almost positive that it was the snoring that woke him, not the increasingly present pain. It was like an alarm that you couldn’t switch off.

Annoying as hell.

He opened his eyes slowly and cautiously, expecting a prison like cell at best and an ironic type of heaven/hell at worst. He was met by the sight of a dimly lit hospital room, a stoic, rhythmic beeping to accompany the snoring and his father sitting in an uncomfortable chair, head resting on his folded arms, sleeping.

Stiles had seen his Dad like this before, it was just beyond strange and upsetting to see it from this position.

“Dad,” he tried to say, but it came out rasping and dry and was followed immediately by a series of body-wracking coughs. His father woke at the sound of them, bolting up in his chair and shouting for a nurse before grabbing the cup and jug sitting on the side table and filling it with water. He helped Stiles sit up more and take a sip, rubbing a hand lightly across his back. It hurt.

“You can’t just wake up normally can you,” his Dad mutters as he puts the cup down on the side table with a shaking hand and helps lower Stiles back onto the bed from his sitting position, “nope, gotta pull a Dracula rises from the dead move.”

“Can’t pass up that kind of opportunity,” Stiles croaked out, “once in a lifetime.”

The Sheriff’s eyes were serious when he looked at Stiles again.

“Better be.”

“I swear.”

His Dad lets out a long breath, pressing the heel of his palm into his temple and letting it just sit there, staring at the criss-cross knit in the blanket on the bed.

“Dad…”

“Gotta say kiddo. If you didn’t want to pick me up there were easier ways to get out of it.”

“It-“

“Wasn’t your fault. I know. But… Stiles,” his Dad’s eyes were on his again, concerned and questioning and just a touch angry, “what the hell did you do?”

The door opened before Stiles got a chance to even think of a response and Melissa all but fell through it in her hurry to beat Scott inside.

“Medical professional!” She chastised as she moved to Stiles’ bedside.

“Best friend!” Scott fired back, although it was mostly a whine, and shuffled up next to the Sheriff while Melissa fussed on the other side of the bed.

“Gosh I’m popular today. I should do this more often,” Stiles joked and Melissa fixed him with a glare.

“If you do I will stab you with a hypodermic needle, understand?”

Scott and the Sheriff exchanged glances while Stiles swallowed.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. I owe you one slap over the head when you’re not padded.”

“I look forward to it,” Stiles sighed, sinking into his pillows while Melissa poked at the machine attached to his body.

A clattering in the hall made Stiles turn to look just in time for the door to burst open and a harried Derek to trip inside, his shirt uneven on his shoulders and his beard longer than normal. The room was silent for a minute while Derek stared at Stiles and Stiles stared back and everybody else looked between them as if awaiting weapons to be drawn.

“I hate you _so_ much _,”_ Derek spits out and Stiles wants to shrink away because he’s practically _vibrating_ with anger.

“I thought I told you to drive _safe,_ ” he continues, stepping into the room, indicating at the bed, “ _this_ , for future reference, does not occur with _safety_ , which is why I _asked._ ”

“I’m… sorry?”

Derek’s eyebrow twitched and he turned and left with tight shoulders.

“Aw crap,” Stiles whimpered and beside him his Dad sighed heavily, making Stiles freeze and remember that his Dad would have _no idea_ what just happened.

“I’ll go get him,”

Wait. What.

“Wait, what?!”

His father fixed him with a withering glare, one that spoke promises of ‘words to be had’.

“You’ve been unconscious for two days Stiles.”

“Aw crap,”

“Yeah. Aw crap. Any final words before I go and find our house guest?”

“I’m injured so you can’t be mad at me?”

The Sheriff rolled his eyes as he stood.

“Watch me.”

Stiles called out for him to stop, making him pause by the door.

“I didn’t plan this. You weren’t meant to find out like… this. There was a plan. A good one – with explanations and reasoning and… plans.”

“I know kiddo. I saw the dinner, all set out on the table.”

“He set the table?”

“There was a bowl of fruit in the middle.”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

The Sheriff smiled a tired, half smile.

“Nope,” he said before disappearing around the corner.

Stiles stared at the empty doorway for a long moment until a hand slapped up the backside of his head.

“Ah, _ow_!” He let out, reeling around to Melissa, who shrugged.

“I figured you could take it. I still owe you one for me. That one was for Derek.”

Stiles rubbed at his head, frowning at her in confusion and she eyed him back.

“You know he just about tore this place apart trying to get in and see you. I thought your Dad was going to arrest him at first, but then Derek actually saw you and... kid, I dunno what you think you’re doing with that man but,” she shook her head slowly, letting out a long breath, “all I’m going to say is he’s been through enough. Don’t hurt him.”

And with that, she turned and left, taking his chart with her. Stiles swivelled to face Scott, who was slouched in the seat beside the bed.

“I’m the one in the hospital bed. Don’t you think I deserve a little sympathy?”

Scott shrugged.

“You didn’t see Derek when you were brought in. It was scary. He went like… catatonic for a while there. Your Dad actually talked him out of it which was so weird because he’d been all about throwing cuffs on him like two minutes earlier I swear. And then they both sat here for ages. I dunno what they talked about because I wasn’t allowed in the room but whatever Derek said made your Dad really weird, call in a bunch of other officers and stuff. I’ve only got the rumour side of things. Is it true Allison’s aunt hit you with her car because she burnt down Derek’s house years ago and you worked it out?”

Stiles blinked at Scott slowly for a minute before sighing and relaxing back into the bed.

“Yup.”

“Duuudddeeee.”

“Yup.”

\-------------------

Two broken fingers. Broken arm. Fractured ribs. Torn the tendon in his leg. Bruises _everywhere_. Cuts and scrapes. First degree burns.

All in all… he could have been worse. A lot worse. Dead kind of worst. And the drugs made everything fuzzy on the edges and it wasn’t actually so bad.

According to his doctor, stalling at the traffic light was the best thing that could have happened to him. Kate hit the front of his car instead of solidly in the middle, which made it spin onto its side instead of rolling multiple times like it would have if she had hit the side fully, and he would have had a lot more in the injury list if that had happened. There were more scientific terms when he said it, but Stiles translated for himself.

Kate, as he found out, had taken off before the ambulance and police arrived – she was injured but managed to escape. Police predict she won’t get far before they catch her, not when they have ‘full support’ from her brother, who had done a press release urging her to ‘turn herself in.’

The boy who had pulled Stiles from the car was named Isaac Lahey – he went to Stiles' school. He’d been biking through the forest, taking a shortcut home, when he’d seen the accident and rushed to help. He had a few minor burns and a couple of scraps and a bunch of bruises and was being treated for shock. He said he’d testify if they needed him to. Stiles had already mentally noted to find him and… he didn’t even know. Hug him? Thank him? Buy him curly fries? How do you thank someone for saving your life?

He’d work it out.

Right now, the biggest issue was that Derek still wasn’t speaking to him.

He was there, sitting right next to Stiles, chatting easily with Stiles’ Dad about pointless things but refusing to engage in conversation with Stiles just as much as he refused to leave Stiles’ side – the only reason he hadn’t been in the room when Stiles woke up was because Melissa had forced him into the cafeteria to eat _something_. His Dad noticed Derek’s silence and said _nothing._ Derek wouldn’t even look at him.

It was practically painful, which, with all his injuries, was saying something.

So, when his Dad left the room to do something for work and left Derek behind, Stiles’ pounced.

“Is this how it’s going to be from now on? I get hurt and you systematically ignore me while bonding with my Dad from three feet away?”

Derek _finally_ looked up at him.

“I can’t listen to you joke about this Stiles,” he said, all business, “I don’t want you to wave this off like it’s nothing. You could have died.”

“I kno—“

“No, you don’t. You could have died. And… that would have been it for me, okay? I can’t listen to you joke about this because it’s not just your life you’re joking about,” Derek sighed heavily, leaning forward so his elbows were resting on the bed, “I know it wasn’t your fault. I now I’m being unfair taking it out on you but I can’t… just. Be serious please? Don’t try to rush your recovery, don’t be stupid with it. Do what your doctor tells you. Get better.”

Stiles searched Derek’s face and Derek stared back just as seriously.

“Okay. I promise.”

Derek let out a long sigh. 

“Thank you.”

Stiles reached for one of Derek’s hands and Derek let him have it, watching Stiles play with his fingers.

“So you’re getting along with Dad huh?”

Derek snorted.

“We bonded over your stupidity and your ability to give us mutual heart attacks.”

“Glad I could help.”

Derek’s lips quirked.

“He’s under the impression we’re dating.”

Stiles gaped.

“In fact, a lot of people think we’re dating,” Derek continued, seeming to enjoy the look on Stiles’ face, “and I didn’t really feel like correcting them.”

“So… basically… Dad thinks he left town and I snuck my boyfriend over for the week.”

“Yup,” Derek said, down-right grinning now, popping his ‘p’ for emphasis.

“He’s never going to leave town again.”

“Nope.”

“How do you still have your balls?!”

“I think the hysterical freak out when you came in helped earn some points. I’d like to avoid having another one of those, by the way,” Derek added like his mental health was an afterthought.

Stiles squeezed his hand.

“I’ll do my best.”

Derek sighed and Stiles frowned.

“Wait, you didn’t correct anyone? So everyone just thinks we’re dating?”

“Yeah.”

“So we’re gonna tell them we’re not, right?”

“Nah.”

“But…”

“I don’t think we need too.”

“Dude, we’re not dating. It’s kinda lying.”

Derek stood up and leaned himself over Stiles, swooping down and pressing his lips to Stiles without so much as a how do you do. It wasn’t hugely overdone kiss, just a long dry press, one of Derek’s hands curling over a bandage on Stiles’ cheek, but it was a promise in itself.

“I don’t think we need too,” he said quietly when he pulled back, bumping Stiles’ nose lightly with his own, and Stiles took a moment to breathe and watch him now that he was so close.

“Yeah. No need,” Stiles managed incoherently, pushing himself up to catch Derek again, who let him.

There was a cough from the door that forced them apart, Stiles’ Dad watching them with a raised eyebrow.

“Made up then?” he asked.

Stiles cleared his throat and Derek shuffled awkwardly.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Good. The tension was killing me,” he lifted his hand and pointed at Stiles, “you and I are going to have a talk when you get out of here.”

“Fun,” Stiles sighed, sinking back into the bed and Derek settled back into his chair. His hand rested on the bed beside Stiles again and Stiles took it without thinking. He knew his Dad was looking but didn’t pull it away. His Dad came back and sat down, handing Derek a pile of paperwork.

“What’s that?” Stiles asked as he tipped his head, trying to read.

“Work,” his Dad answered dryly, and Stiles pouted.

“Applications,” Derek muttered, his ears turning a light red and Stiles frowned.

“Applications? For what?”

“Work,” his Dad said again, this time with a little more entertainment.

“Wait, you’re actually doing it? You’re actually applying?”

“Well I need a job, don’t I? And… I wanna help people,” Derek met Stiles’ eyes and the younger man could hear everything Derek wasn’t actually saying – that he could save people, that he could use his werewolf senses to actually do good. Stiles felt the smile rip across his face.

“Dude,” he breathed.

“Don’t call me dude,”

“This is excellent!”

“Thanks.”

“You’re gonna be the best cop. Second best,” he added hastily, glancing at his Dad, who rolled his eyes.

“I can’t actually start anything until this stuff with Kate finishes though,” he adds quietly and Stiles rubs his thumb.

“Another thing we need to talk about,” his Dad said, “is how you shouldn’t taunt serial killers.”

“I didn’t,”

“She hit you with her car and then tried to blow you and an innocent bystander up.”

“Maybe a little?”

Derek and his Dad groaned in unison.

“She was a psycho! It’s still not my fault!”

“How do you deal with this?” Derek asked his Dad, who shrugged.

“I keep a donut supply at the office.”

“You _what?!”_

\----------------

“Mr. Stilinski?” Stiles turned towards the door where a severe looking nurse was standing, holding a clipboard. The world took a second to catch up – he’d just received his last round of medication for the day and was on one way street to sleepy town. His father and Derek had go home and sleep in their own beds (which, awkward to watch them try and organize without being obvious about it) promising to be back bright and early tomorrow.

“Uh. Yes?”

“You’re scheduled for some x-rays. You have to come with me.”

Stiles blinked in confusion.

“I thought I’d finished all my x-rays? And isn’t it kind of late to be doing x-rays?”

“No,” she said, sounding annoyed, “this is the only time we could fit you in for the next set that Dr. Grundig ordered. If you could come with me please,” she finished, quickly moving forward and pulling out his IV and the heart monitor. Stiles scrambled up, wincing and moving much slower than normal, trying to keep up with her as she moved to leave.

“Hey, shouldn’t I be in a wheelchair? I mean, I’m drugged but stuff still hurts. Like walking.”

“You’re healthy enough for us not to waste resources.”

“Okay, ouch. You could work on your bedside manner,”

The nurse didn’t respond, instead rounding a corner for Stiles to follow. They walked down several long corridors in silence while Stiles’ mind itched with questions.

“Wait here,” she said suddenly when they stopped out the front of a nurse’s station before she disappeared around another corner.

“Wait here… seriously? What kind of nurse is this,” he muttered to himself, leaning against the desk to take some pressure off his legs. He really should have requested a wheelchair. The world had a slightly fuzzy tinge thanks to his meds, making everything seem just a touch off kilter.

There was a noise down a side corridor that made him stand, squinting into the dark.

“Hello? Uh… nurse… lady?”

“If it isn’t the human Alpha,” a voice drawled in the dark and Stiles jumped at the unexpected sound, shuffling back a few steps, pulling his hospital gown more tightly around himself.

A man was propped up against the wall, smiling lightly, revealed from the shadows with his voice. Stiles pulled himself up, swallowing.

He would add this to the ‘Stiles is the world’s biggest idiot’ column later.  

“Yeah, that’s me. I know, you’d think I’d be taller.”

The man waved a finger at Stiles, laughing lightly and stuffing one hand into his pocket.

“It’s all jokes with you. Derek did say that.”

Stiles froze, his heart picking up.

“Derek?”

“Oh yeah. You should have heard him droning _on_ and _on._ Laura’s _dead_ , my Alpha’s a _human_ , the bitch is _back,_ what do I _do._ It was like listening to angsty teen poetry come to life. But then he comes in smelling like blood and fear and tells me, ‘he’s in hospital’ and I thought well… there’s no time like the present to meet the extended family.”

“Who…”

“Stiles!”

Stiles started at the sound of Derek’s voice, backing up several steps as Derek came skidding around the corner. He rushed past Stiles, pushing him back, shoving him backwards down the hallway. Stiles stumbled into the wall and slid down to the floor, gasping in pain and unable to move while Derek crouched in front of him.

“It’s him. Peter -- he’s the rogue,” he didn’t even glance back at Stiles when he barked, “run, now. Get out.”

“Caught red handed. Well,” Peter rocked his head back and forth, shrugging apologetically with a smile, “close enough _,”_ his eyes flashed a bright scarlet before settling back into their off-kilter blue.

“You killed Laura,” Derek’s voice vicious, “your niece. Your _family._ We were _pack,”_

“Were, being the operative word. We stopped being pack the moment you two bundled yourself up into a car and left me here to _rot,”_ he took a small sliding step forward, “I could see everything you know. Hear everything. Smell… I was _alive_ in there, healing _cell by cell_ , for years, and the two of you just left me. Family? Don’t say it like it's important when you don’t even know what it means Derek _._ ”

Derek straightened himself up, pain and anger clear in his voice.

“So you killed her for revenge?”

“No, no… she was an unfortunate, but necessary, loss. The Alpha powers let me heal,” he rolled his shoulders, stretching slightly, “gave me freedom. I did what I needed to do to survive. Don’t you see Derek? I needed to do it. I had no choice – Laura had to die so that I could live, so that I could do what she couldn’t.”

“Do what?”

“Get revenge on the people that hurt us – on the people who took away our family. The Argents don’t make deals Derek. They’ll keep coming. The only way to keep a hunter from killing you is to kill them first,” he’s focused entirely on Derek now, his voice a tantalizing offer, “you think the little agreement your human made will keep them in line? You can join me and we can be a real pack again,”

“Stiles,” Derek started, attempting to demand him away again, but he was cut off.

“has to go.”

“What?” Stiles let out from his spot on the floor, affronted, but his noise of objection went ignored.

“He’s _human._ He can’t actually do anything for you. You don’t need him; he’s useless to us, just dead weight. Come on Derek, you can stop this nonsense now.  You have a real Alpha – _family_ like you said. We can be that again. You can help me get revenge. He’s not really pack – just a substitute for the real thing,” Peter let his eyes burn red and Derek’s flashed blue automatically in response, his form going still under the hypnotic influence of a real Alpha, “I have the power to keep you safe. You don’t need him – join my pack Derek. Join me, shed the excess baggage and you’ll never be alone again.”

Peter’s voice was entrancing, smooth and purposeful, each step gliding, each word dripping in promises. Stiles could see Derek’s shoulders relaxing, the fists held by his side uncurling, and his heart sank.

“Derek,” he tried, shifting and wincing when his stiches pulled, but he might as well have remained silent for the response he got.

“That’s it?” Derek asked quietly, “kill Stiles and… you’ll fix everything?”

“He’s not really your pack Derek, he’s just faking. Manipulating you – but your wolf doesn’t know that. You can’t be my beta while he’s alive.”

“Hold up, kill me?!” 

Both wolves turned to focus on him then, making him swallow.

“Look at him Derek. Weak. Injured. How can he protect you like that? He’s useless. He looks pathetically human,” Peter sneered, a grin forming on his face, “in fact, he looks like prey, doesn’t he? It’d be quick. Just one little swipe.”

Derek took a small step toward Stiles, claws out and teeth sharpened and Peter’s eyes lit up.

“He wouldn’t even feel it. It’d be a mercy, almost,”

“Derek, don’t listen to him,” Stiles started hurriedly, his eyes flicking quickly between Peter and Derek, pleading, “come on. Think about Laura, you know this isn’t right. You don’t want to do this,”

“Yes you do, don’t you?” Peter cooed and Stiles’ stomach rolled as Derek took another step forward, his eyes trained on Stiles like a greyhound on a rabbit, “you’ll finally get something right. You’re not some human’s pet. You’re family, a werewolf. You’re not some stray dog.”

Derek stopped, his foot hovering in the air barely an inch above the ground, but Peter didn’t notice. He was still talking, spewing the same tempting lines over and over with different compositions. Stiles didn’t take his eyes off Derek, watching as he seemed to tense up all over again, as his hands formed fists, as his eyes turned hard.

“Macaroni,” he muttered, giving Stiles a _look_ like he wasn’t honest to god losing his mind here, cutting Peter off mid word. The older man cocked his head with a relaxed grin.

“Sorry?”

“I am,” Derek said more loudly.

“You’re what?” he asked, expecting to hear a very specific response.

“His stray dog,” Derek said, still staring at Stiles, making the smile on Peter’s face melt away.

“What?”

“I’m his stray dog,” he turned, facing Peter again, a scowl marring the older man’s features, “I followed him home. He… he took care of me, made me a home. He did everything he could to make me feel welcome and safe and protected. He didn’t _try_ to control me. Stiles is my Alpha,” Derek bared his teeth, stepping in front of Stiles’ fallen form, “and he is ten times the Alpha you’ll ever be, wolf or not.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Peter drawled but he couldn’t hide his anger at the change of events.

“He _earned_ his right to be my Alpha. You murdered for yours. Laura… You murdered _Laura,_ ” he snarled, like he was only just realizing it and Peter growled in response.

“You’re going to choose this kid, someone you barely know, over your family? Over your last living relative?” Peter tried and Derek stood his ground.

“You don’t get to talk to me about family. Don’t say it like it's important when you don’t even know what it means anymore,” Derek spat, throwing Peter’s words back in his face, “my uncle Peter died in the fire with the rest of the people I loved. He never would have hurt Laura. He never would have _murdered_ for power. He never would have tried to control me, force me to kill for him. You’re just a rogue who needs putting down,” Derek crouched slightly, defensive and ready to strike.

Peter sighed.

“I was hoping to avoid this portion of the evening, but you always were a little drama queen. Nothing’s ever simple with you. But it’s fine. If you won’t accept my offer… I’ll just have to convince you.”

Peter rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck and spine and Stiles watched in horror as he changed – it wasn’t like Derek, who just got a little hairier and wrinklier. Peter grew, distorted and grotesque, into something huge and unrecognizable. Derek rushed forward, his face twisted in guilt and horror and anger as he swiped down on his uncle, only to be met with a heavy curled fist, right into his nose, spurting blood. Derek took a stumbling step backwards while Peter finished transforming, his hand coming down heavy on Stiles shoulder as he grabbed him and yanked him to his feet.

“Move, now,” he growled around his fangs and the blood, pushing Stiles down the darkened hall, and Stiles flailed into action without argument, ignoring the pain that rushed through his body at the movement. The red of Peter’s eyes shone down the hallway before them, reflecting off the glass and metal.

Derek shoved him into a room and slammed the door closed, twisting the lock and pulling Stiles along.

“This is a hospital. We can’t have a supernatural showdown in a hospital, there are people and cameras and—“

“Stiles I’m in the middle of saving your life, can we discuss logistics later?!”

“Someone’s going to see!”

“And we’re going to die, what’s more important to you right now?”

Stiles’ was silent for a few quick footsteps.

“Where do we go?”

There was an almighty crash from behind them and Stiles found himself being lifted up, carried along while Derek ran.

“Well this is emasculating,”

“Really?!”

“I’m going to die Derek, my brain isn’t exactly running on full pistons!”

A roar echoed throughout the building while Derek skidded around a corner and slid to a stop a few short yards from the stone face of the armed and aiming Chris Argent and for one heart-stopping second Stiles’ was sure he was going to fire and that would be it. If the bullet didn’t kill them, Peter would.

Instead, Chris twisted his wrist just over Derek shoulder and yelled ‘get down!’

Stiles felt the air of the bullet whiz over his head as Derek dropped, missing the two of them by inches. There was another roar, two more bangs in quick succession and then deathly silence broken by the sound of slow footsteps.

“Are you two alright?”

Chris’s question made both of the younger boys start and Derek collapsed back against the wall of the hallway, his head banging loudly on the plaster. He was un-naturally pale, blood drying under his nose and across his eyebrow, and his arms were still tight around Stiles’ body.

“Peachy,” he said breathily, swallowing heavily and closing his eyes for a moment. Stiles could hear footsteps of people running towards them, the panicked shouts of concerned voices, but he ignored them, shifting in Derek’s grip to pull himself up, pressing his forehead against Derek’s. Derek’s eyes opened to meet Stiles’ and they blazed red, making Stiles suck in a deep breath and freeze until they faded back to hazel. Derek’s hand wrapped around the back to Stiles’ neck to keep him from moving and Stiles felt the light prick of claws against his skin as they turned slowly to fingertips.  

“Bloodlines,” Derek whispered, “it passed on. Like with Laura. I’m all that’s left.”

“Does this…”

“No. Doesn’t change anything,” Derek squeezed the hand on Stiles neck lightly, “not for us, anyway.”

“What the hell?!” A voice shouted and Derek closed his eyes again, taking a few deep breaths.

“Why can’t anything be simple?” He whined and Stiles laughed, just collapsed against Derek’s chest and laughed in relief.

The rogue was dead. Kate was gone. Chris… well, he could have killed them and didn’t. It was progress.

Maybe things would finally pan out for them in the future.

“Is that a body?” His Dad’s voice asked, all business, “everybody back up, bac-- _Stiles?!”_

Or not. 


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EPILOGUE 
> 
> (Warning contains porn)

Derek stepped awkwardly around the bandage packages that littered the floor and slowly picked up the empty bottle of vinegar and settled it on the bench. He picked up the towel with bloodied spots and tossed it in the trash, re-capped the bleach before it could spill with its loose lid. He settled in the patching arm chair, and waited.

He didn’t wait long.

“Jesus fuck!”

Isaac’s back smacked into the doorframe and Derek spared a wince for the younger boy.

“I d-don’t have any money,” he stuttered out.

“I’m not here to rob you.”

“I...”

“How long has your father been beating the crap out of you?”

Isaac went a very strange sort of pale, his knuckles going white on his the doorhandle, but he said nothing. Derek rose slowly from his chair.

“I never thanked you for saving Stiles.”

“You’re Derek?” Derek nodded and Isaac chewed the inside of his lip, his grip on the doorhandle loosening.

“I know you’ve been… talking, hanging out. He voiced his concerns to me that you seemed like you needed some help and we talked it over. I’m here to… make you an offer, and a promise.”

“What do… what kind of offer?” Isaac asked with narrowed eyes.

Stiles stepped out from behind Isaac, putting a hand on the taller boy’s shoulder and making him jump, giving Stiles a confused look.

“The kind of offer you really can’t refuse,” he said with a grin, pushing the door shut behind him.

\------------

The months following the death of Peter Hale and the dramatic capture of serial arsonist Kate Argent were hectic.

They found Kate, singed and wild eyed in a cabin 10 miles north.

Kate’s sentencing went a little bit like this:

Officer: Anything you say or do can be—

Kate: THEY’RE WEREWOLVES

Officer: Okay I’ll need to swap these cuffs for a straitjacket please?

Stiles had to give her some credit – after they started looking, evidence against Kate was piling up, and not just for the Hales. Missing persons, unsolved murders, various crimes and assaults; dozens that linked back to Kate Argent littered the East Coast. There was no wriggle room for that. She’d be going away for life. That was unless she was _clinically insane._

She was still going away for life (well… 30-40 years minimum in a high security mental institution, so most of her life), except now she was going away into a cushy padded cell which allowed regular visits from her family and decent meals.

For months the news was plastered with her photograph, filled with the story of a seemingly nice young lady who believed that her last name meant that she was born to kill the creatures of the night. They called her ‘Arson Argent’ and reporters crawled Beacon Hills for tidbits and headlines.

Allison was accosted daily, wherever she went, people shouting insults and questions, trying to ask ‘are all the Argents ready to snap’. Isaac had people physically trying to pull him aside to get him to talk about his ‘heroic rescue’ and ‘how he felt about confronting a serial killer’. Reporters screamed questions at the dark windows of the Stilinski household, trying to talk to _The Boy Who Made Arson Argent Explode_ and _The Last Hale._

They cornered the Sheriff exactly one time. After that, every reporter mysteriously left town within the week (except for a few of the heavily dogged ones which got slapped with some serious fines and a couple of threatened arrests before they left with their tails between their legs.)

Stiles and Isaac had never been so popular before in their entire life; Allison had never faced such merciless bulling. They tried – Scott, Stiles, Isaac, even Lydia (who, let’s face it, was a surprise but then after a day not a surprise at all) would corner Allison’s bullies and shut them down. Allison had taken care of it at first, but when someone had gotten physical and she had returned the favour, rumours that she was ‘just like her crazy aunt’ spread like wildfire. 

She kept her chin up, walked the halls hand in hand with Scott, with Isaac bumping her shoulder and Stiles slinging his arms around as many of his friends as he could reach. Lydia would walk in front like the god damn Queen of the Hallways that she was with Jackson on her arm and Danny by her side and verbally eviscerate anyone who so much as sent a dirty look their way. If anyone was a survivor it was Allison, but her friends sure as hell helped.

There had been a moment, barely a faction of one where Allison had come to Stiles with wet eyes and tried to apologize for something that wasn’t her fault but Stiles stopped her before she could even get the words out. He smiled and hugged her and told her not to worry about it because it’s not like she knew or could stop Kate.

She’s given Derek a smile as she left and he’d returned it, even if it was small – progress often started that way.

It was actually because of the bullies that they met Erica and Don’t-Call-Me-Vernon-Stiles-No-Really-I-Will-Hurt-You-Derek-Be-Damned Boyd. A group of guys cornered Allison after school, wanting to see if Argents really could survive flames. Before Scott could so much as raise his voice, Boyd was there, getting his fist well acquainted with some faces and Erica was grabbing Allison’s arm, pulling her to safety and quickly trying to put out the fire that had already started. It was three against one, and even though the other boys threw themselves into the fray (the girls would have joined, but they were putting out fire and getting a nurse) Boyd probably could have taken the attackers down himself.

The three fire starters were expelled (when they got out of hospital) and Erica and Boyd joined their ‘gang’ (Isaac would stifle giggles and whisper ‘pack’ to Stiles when he thought he could get away with it until everyone else joined him). Erica received a makeover a la Lydia and made the whole school forget that she was epileptic just by walking down the hall.

Isaac’s giggles said it all -- they were a pack.

\-----------

“Isaac, off,” Stiles said, shoving at the blonde, who poked his tongue out and snuggled deeper into Stiles’ stomach.

“No. Not a dog,”

“Actually,”

“Derek on a scale of 1 to 10 how angry would you be if I bit Stiles every time he made a dog joke?”

“That would just prove my point!”

“About a 3,” Derek called back from the kitchen and Stiles made an affronted noise while Isaac laughed.

“Worse. Pack. Ever,” Stiles muttered, crossing his arms over Isaac’s head, attempting to smother the wolf in his hoodie. Isaac just seemed pleased.

Derek wandered back out from the kitchen and flopped onto the couch beside Stiles, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and sticking his nose into Stiles’ neck.

“Okay you guys know that people think we’re some weird threesome when they see you doing this right?”

“This is pack bonding, there’s nothing sexual about it,” Derek muttered, but his lips scrapped against the spot behind Stiles’ ear and forced him to repress a shiver.

“Okay no flirting when I’m lying on his stomach,” Isaac muffled out, disgusted.

There was a triple knock on the door, making Stiles jump but the wolves didn’t move and he sighed, lifting his feet up to the coffee table and relaxing back into the couch.

“What, no warning?” he asked his wolves judgementally as Derek shouted for the knocker to come in.

Derek’s apartment (pause for effect because Derek had moved out and gotten his own apartment, hark the angels sing Stiles could jerk off without being judged again!) had become the hang out hot spot. It was a huge loft, positioned perfectly between the school and the police station, making it Stiles’ favourite place to be, ever. And it had wi-fi. Really, really good wi-fi.

Stiles got a key to the apartment the day Derek got his. Isaac got a key two days later and moved in three days after that.

It wasn’t hard to convince the Sheriff to pull some strings for that – Mr. Lahey was subject to formal charges, but none of them stuck because Isaac didn’t have any marks (the negative of werewolf healing in this instance). There was enough suspicion though for Isaac to request emancipation, which was granted with conditions, one of which was that he must share accommodations with a reputable adult who was respected by the community. Who better for that than a young deputy with a flawless record and close ties with the Sheriff who had supported Isaac through the entire emancipation process?

Stiles had laughed for an _hour_ when he found out, not because of the situation, but because somewhere out there a judge had a little piece of paper that listed Derek as a “reputable adult respected by the community” when Derek still thought cheese from a can was a good pasta topping.

Speaking of Derek’s job – _Derek’s. Job._

He started training the day after Kate’s trial (which was less of a trial and more of a sentencing – they didn’t even need witnesses and there hadn’t been a jury) and flew through the physical side of things. He’d actually studied (studied. At the table. With papers and books and a little frown,) for the other side of things. Stiles’ was helpful here because he knew the codes by heart and procedures by memory and it was something he was actually interested in so he stayed focused for longer than a second. Derek passed that with flying colours too.

The graduation ceremony was four months after Kate had been put away; six months after Stiles had gotten out of hospital; and seven and a half months since Kate had hit Stiles with her car.  

Derek was one of three new recruits but he was still ‘top of his class’, whatever that meant. That didn’t stop the ‘pack’ from erupting when he was officially given his badge and putting the rest of the crowd’s polite clapping to shame.

He was pleased, Stiles has photos to prove it.

The effects of Derek in a uniform still hadn’t worn off. That was nearly six months ago.

Today?

“PILE ON THE ALPHA!”

“N—“

Stiles didn’t even get to finish the word before Scott was flinging himself onto the couch, followed closely by Erica and Danny, Allison jumping on right as Stiles’ groaned under the weight. Boyd sat in the spare arm chair because he was responsible and mature and also weighted a freaking tonne so Stiles would die.

“Puppies,” Lydia tusked as she walked thought the door, Jackson following behind her with his arms full. He gave the pile of bodies a contorted look that was half longing and half disgust – he was still an asshole but now Stiles could glare and he would apologize in his own Jackson-y way.

“Alright, alright, _off,”_ Stiles demanded, shoving, and the pack scattered, tumbling to the ground or slipping into long claimed chairs, wolves and humans alike, leaving Derek to lounge over Stiles as much as he liked now that Isaac had wriggled his way under Scott’s arm in the corner.

Isaac, Derek, Erica, Boyd, Jackson and Danny had already accepted the bite. Lydia had been bitten but was immune (which, was the most stressful two weeks of the whole year and who knew that immunity existed…??), Scott was still thinking it over (he wanted to wait until he’d graduated because he really wanted to be a vet and thought that dealing with wolf issues would make studying harder, and while he already found studying difficult he was pretty smart and got decent grades), Allison had been forbidden the bite but was going to wait with Scott anyway and Stiles had flat out said no when Derek asked because he, quote, ‘didn’t need no fancy wolf powers to kick-ass and keep the pups in line.’ Which was true – the wolves responded to Stiles just like they would a full Alpha, the rank carrying down the line because Derek still submitted under him.

Erica took great pleasure in being the only female wolf and proving she was just as tough as the boys while simultaneously being able to enjoy shopping with Lydia and batting her eyelashes to get her way.

“What are we watching tonight? Who’s turn was it to pick?” Stiles’ asks as he shifts himself into Derek’s side, rubbing a thumb lightly back and forth on Derek’s knee.

“Boyd’s,” Derek murmurs, sleep already hinting at the back of his tone – Derek never failed to fall asleep during movie night and always cuddled himself up to Stiles to do it.

“Star Trek,” Body voiced.

“Not even surprised,” Erica snorted.

“The new one?” Isaac asked.

“Yeah,”

“Mmmm Chris Pine,”

“Please, Lyds, have you _seen_ Quinto?” Stiles leered and Derek pinched his side.

“You’re biased because of the eyebrows,” Lydia sniffed.

“Hey!”

“Uh, I think you’re all forgetting about Zoe Saldana,” Allison said, her voice a little dreamy.

There was a collective sigh of ‘yeah,’ before Boyd stood, breaking them out of separate mini daydreams.

“I’m putting it on,”

“Excellent.”

\----------------

Derek pulled back, sucking in a deep breath while Stiles mouthed down his jaw to his neck.

“Shouldn’t you be heading home,” he gasped out and he could feel Stiles’ smile against his skin.

“Curfew was moved up an hour ‘cuz we’ve been so good,” Stiles slid across Derek’s thighs but continued to keep a gap between their hips, “frustratingly, agonizingly, mercilessly but… a necessary good.”

“Sorry,”

“Don’t _apologize,_ ”

“Sor—“ Stiles cut him off with his lips, catching the edge of teeth.

The pack had cleared out about half an hour ago, Scott dragging Isaac with him, leaving them blessedly alone in the loft.

“Don’t. Apologize,” Stiles slid his hands down Derek’s neck, stoking his pulse, “just a little bit longer – barely two months. I’m kinda eager to be able to say we succeeded actually. Almost fifteen months, no below the belt action and we’re still in a semi-healthy, dedicated relationship? We deserve awards or something.”

“Yeah, Isaac’s just happy we’ll stop smelling like ‘desperation and pathetic longing.’”

“Why did you teach him to scent emotions, _why_ ,”

“but I don’t think he realizes that we’ll just start smelling like sex.”

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes, eyes sparkling.

It had been something they hashed out early (as in Stiles was still hospitalized early) in their relationship.

No sex.

No anything that could resemble sex.

It wasn’t because they were feeling particularly puritan or anything, and it wasn’t because the Sheriff gave them a stern look (although he did do that). It was personal for them, with both the obvious reasons (see Derek: statutory rape already happened once here) and subtle reasons (see Stiles: not wanting to take advantage with Alpha command power)

They still made out like horny teenagers because at one of them still was, Derek still left a litany of marks along Stiles’ collarbone (and throat when it was winter or he was feeling particularly possessive because someone hit on/asked out Stiles), and they still shared a bed whenever they could even just for sleep.

Stiles’ jerk off rate skyrocketed and even though he’d never admit it Stiles was ninety per cent sure Derek’s did too.

The Sheriff was both supportive of their relationship and wary of it, providing curfews (ten on weekdays and Sunday, two on weekends unless permission for a sleepover was granted. Sunday night dinner was mandatory for pack. No sex under his roof: rules are subjective to change without warning or reasoning)

They’d told the Sheriff everything (EVERYTHING) when Stiles got out of hospital.

Now that? That had been… interesting.

They started off easy – got the Sheriff to sit down, sat opposite him and then… said nothing.

It was really hard to start that kind of confession.

“Are you pregnant?” was how the conversation started.

It pretty much went downhill from there.

\-------

“What? No!”

“Why do you make it sound like that’s a possibility?”

“It’s not! Still a virgin here!”

“Stiles,”

“You should be defending my honour!”

“I don’t have too, you’re a guy.”

“I… oh.”

His Dad was giving him an exasperated but also bemused look while Derek just rested his forehead on the table.

“This is going so badly,” he moaned and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Just spit it out whatever you’re gonna say if it’s really that bad.”

Derek lifted his head to meet Stiles eyes and Stiles shrugged.

“Okay, so,” Stiles started slowly, “remember how Derek’s Uncle had that psychotic break after being… uh… experimentally overdosed by his crazy ass nurse? And you know… _died_ in the hospital?”

“Vaguely,” his Dad grilled out – that had _barely_ flown as an excuse. Luckily, the nurse had committed suicide (which seriously you should never be able to start that kind of sentence with ‘luckily’ how was this their _life)_ and left a note ‘confessing’ to using Peter Hale’s comatose body as an experimental platform and that she ‘couldn’t live’ with the results that she produced. They were pretty sure the note was forged, because it was found on her cell phone but the suicide portion of things was very, very real.

“Uh. Well. Things were actually… different than what we told you. Just a touch though.”

“How different?”

“Well… you see,”

“I’m a werewolf and so was he and so were my entire family and that’s why Kate killed them.”

They sat in silence for a minute while the Sheriff looked between them.

“That’s what you’re going with.”

Stiles elbowed Derek in the side.

“Do the thing,” he hissed

“You told me not too!” Derek whispered in return.

“I changed my mind,”

“What happened to ‘he has a weak heart and I don’t want you killing him with your growly lack of eyebrows!?’”

“Boys, I can hear everything your saying,”

“Don’t freak out,” Stiles begged and beside him Derek shifted.

They sat, still and silent, until the Sheriff could close his mouth and Derek shifted back.

“Uh. Questions?” Stiles said, waving his arms like a shiny TV showgirl.

“I… don’t… but where do your eyebrows _go?_ ”

And that’s how the Sheriff found out about werewolves.

\------------

It took a few days before the Sheriff found Stiles in his room and sat down on the end of his bed.

Stiles span around in his chair, fiddling with a pen to distract himself.

“Ready to talk about it?”

“I want to clarify… some things. Not about werewolves,” he said the word like one would curse and Stiles already knew that he wasn’t going to ask about werewolves because he’d been dropping information questions on the two of them since he found out and never looked _this_ serious, “just in general.”

“Okay…”

“You and Derek… how, uh,”

“Long have we been together?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Since the hospital. You kinda walked in on our first kiss.”

“Oh.”

“Yup.”

“So you two haven’t…”

“Hav… oh my god.”

“I don’t want to _know,”_

 _“_ No! No, no, no. Uh. We… won’t. Not for a while.”

“I have no idea what you mean by that.”

“We’ve talked about it. Kate… uh… well when Derek was well… my age, she…”

“Oh. Aw crap.”

“Yeah. Just – trust me. Neither of us is ready right now, and nothing will happen until I’m 18 at least, honest promise right there.”

Stiles pointedly looked down at his pen, pulling it apart and putting it back together again before his Dad spoke again.

“Kate… she’s not crazy, is she?”

Stiles felt himself bristle.

“She’s crazy as all hell. What she did was crazy and wrong… but she’s not wrong, technically, with her information.”

His dad nodded with a neutral expression.

“And uhh… hunters?” Stiles nodded and he continued, “like her, could they hurt you? And Derek? Like she did?”

“No. I have a treaty set up with the Argent family. Any hunter that comes through town is their responsibility and any hunter who breaks it is liable to dual punishment from both the Argents and the Hale pack.”

His Dad blinked at him and Stiles realized too late he was using his authoritative Alpha voice.

“I feel like you grew up without me kiddo,” his Dad sighed, rubbing his eye.

“I’m not grown up yet,” Stiles said quietly, “I still don’t know what I’m doing, not fully. I still need you. I’ve got… all this _pressure_ , people looking at me and expecting me to be responsible and mature and I gotta look after my pack and I know it’s meant to be a two way street but we’re not there yet and… I still need you to be my Dad. I need you to take care of me. Keep me sane. Keep me human. I need you to just… you’re… proud right? That I’m… doing this? I’m not screwing up completely? Am I?”

“Come here,” his Dad stood up, arms wide and Stiles met him halfway, accepting the hug gratefully.

“I am proud of you. And I love you, you know that too right?”

Stiles squeezed a little tighter.

“Yeah. Yeah Dad I know. I love you too.”

\-------------

Expanding the pack had always been a touchy spot with the hunters.

Well… hunter.

Chris was more than a little bit apprehensive (that’s putting it lightly) about the fact that there were a bunch of bitten teens running around Beacon Hills, going to class, watching movies, hanging out with _his daughter_. Victoria (who, let’s face it, _way_ scarier than Chris, Stiles never _ever_ wants to have a meeting with her again) was even less accepting.

Negotiations when concerning the pack’s expansion were always in the running, even when there weren’t more people being added. Chris was just angry and putting up a fuss – but none of the new wolves had done anything even close to breaking the rules he’d set down and all of them and been quickly anchored to the rest of the pack, keeping things safe and in control. Things became more complicated when Allison was involved but even her parents couldn’t deny the fact that the pack had stuck strong beside her when she needed them most.

The pack was content; they didn’t need or want to expand anymore.

Now, if only the hunters would understand that.

“You know, this all seems freakishly familiar,” Stiles muses, leaning up against the side of his jeep. The numbers at the gas pump ticked over while the car filled, blocked in on either side by the monstrosities that the hunters liked to drive.

It was even the same gas station, although it was only just dusk, the sun still setting behind the trees. It was very full circle.

“Did you guys follow me around until I came to this gas station or did you just sit and wait for me to show up?”

“We’re a little more opportunistic than that.”

“Sure you are Chris,” Stiles pulled the pump from his car, sliding it back into the holder, “what’s so important that Vicky had to send out her best hammers?”

Stiles had learned that women are the leaders and men are the soldiers in the Argent family during their first official treaty meeting and had found it wildly entertaining for the rest of their meetings – he knew better than anyone with the women in his pack that, _especially_ Allison, that women could be the most valuable soldiers, just as they could lead. He just found it entertaining that Chris didn’t think the same.

The mention of his wife sent a twitch through his eyebrow.

“Your birthday.”

“Awwww, thanks man. But it’s not for another two weeks and sorry, you’re not invited to the party.”

“You’re turning 18. Big milestone.”

“The vague beating around the bush villain thing isn’t as cool as you think. Just say what you want to say and leave, I have a date.”

“Are you taking the bite?” he asked bluntly.

Stiles sighed.

“Why do you keep asking me this? I’m starting to think you want me to be bitten more than any of the wolves do,” Chris took a small step to the side and Stiles’ narrowed his eyes, years of being a cop’s son honing in on the movement and analysing it six ways from Sunday.

“You do don’t you. You’re hoping I’ll take the bite because if I do, I’ll technically be a Beta under Derek.”

“We don’t want any wolves, that seems rather counter-productive to our cause, don’t you think?”

“No. Because you deal with the Alpha of the Hale Pack and you retain the right to refuse communication with anyone other than the Alpha. If I got bit you’d want to deal with Derek and Derek alone because you know you’ve got the emotional ammunition to manipulate him easier,” Stiles gave a low whistle around a grin, “your wife really _does_ go for the balls, doesn’t she?”

“You’re pushing the line, Stilinski,”

“Says the man corning a teenager at a gas station, Argent. Alpha or not, you’ve stopped me because you think I’m alone and vulnerable. You should know by now that the Alpha is _never_ alone,” as if right on cue (although more likely because they were listening) there was a howl from the forest on their left. The two younger hunters Chris had brought with him jumped, whipping around towards the noise, but both Chris and Stiles remained still, “and to clarify for your dear wife, I will never, ever, put myself in a position which would make me vulnerable or endanger my pack or the residents of our territory. Including, but not limited to, receiving the bite unless it was _completely_ necessary.”

“You have guard dogs?” one of the men – boys really – sneered.

“Don’t say it like you’re not one yourself, kid,” Stiles snapped, “now I’m gonna go and pay for my gas and you’re going to get in your cars and drive away because we’re done here. Tell Victoria that I’m human and will remain that way until I so choose, which frankly, could be never. I’m almost ashamed of you Chris, falling back on bad habits like this,” Stiles tusked as he wandered, calm as ever, around the older man and towards the station doors, “for a moment I thought you might have been redeemable. _Almost_ human.”

\------------

“Watcha doing?”

“Homework,” Stiles didn’t even look up from his desk to reply to his father, who was hovering in the doorway.

“Okay. Well… Think fast,”

The box his father threw bounced off the middle of his forehead – luckily it was the flat side.

“Ow! I should report you for chil… these are condoms. Why are you throwing condoms at my head.”

“It’s your birthday in a few days.”

“I kno… _oh my god.”_

“I thought you should be prepared.”

“ _Oh. My. God.”_

“And I thought you should know that I go into the chemist regularly and the girl behind the counter mentioned that my son’s ‘cute deputy boyfriend’ neglected to buy some when he picked up _other supplies_ ,”

“Stop talking right now,”

“But I figured I could cover him this once,”

“This is the most horrifying moment of my existence,”

“I thought you’d be smarter about being safe with sex kid. I know you two have been waiting but still… I mean… it’s just _cleaner_ , not even in a disease way, just in a general mess way,”

“OKAY THAT’S ENOUGH THANK YOU,”

“And they never tell you that in school, how _messy_ sex is,”

“Dad!”

“Made my point yet?”

“Yes. With a bulldozer. And so I say, thank you for the gift but,” he tossed the box back, his Dad catching it easily, “I have this one covered.”

His dad raised an eyebrow.

“We made a _deal,_ I get condoms, he gets the other stuff, oh my _god_ ,”

“Oh. Okay then.”

“Yep.”

“Well. Good talk.”

“Not by _any_ definition.”

\----------

“This is just like you getting married.”

Stiles started, stumbled a little because gravity, then squinted at Scott.

“How is my birthday anything like me getting married?”

“’Cuz everyone in the room knows you’re getting laid tonight,” Scott finished with a sneaky smile.

There was a handful of cat calls and wolf whistles following the statement from those who had the hearing to have picked up on it.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Stiles said rolling his eyes, “you all had your chance to get up on all _this,”_ he waved a hand, indicating his whole body and Scott snorted, “but it’s too late now and you’re all jealous.”

“I like to think that it’s been too late for longer than right now,” Derek muses from beside him and Stiles jumps, grabbing at his heart.

“How many times have I said _not to do that?!”_

“A lot. But it’s fun.”

“You know what? I take it back. Everyone still has their chance. Come on, everyone up, my boyfriend is a big weeny,”

“Weeny, really?”

“And is undeserving of the epitome of physical perfection I embody,”

“Cocky,”

“You’re cocky,”

Derek pauses, like his deep in thought before shaking his head.

“Nope, too easy,”

Stiles blanches because really, it would have been but he’s on a roll,

“Ugh, and you’re gro—mmmppphhhh! Mpph mppphhhummmpf mmooouunnnfoo!!”

Derek pulled back when the whistles picked up again.

“Stiles I am kissing you. Stop trying to talk.”

“I am _objecting_ ,”

Derek nosed along Stiles jaw.

“No you’re not,”

“Okay I’m _not_ but you’re still a weeny,”

“Uh hu,”

“And you’re whipped,”

“Duh!” Isaac shouted from across the room and Derek sighed into Stiles skin.

“Don’t care,” he muttered, pulling Stiles closer.

“Annnnddd you’ve entered cutesy cuddle monster mode.”

Derek’s forehead thumped against Stiles’ shoulder while the wolves howled with laughter.

“How does your brain even _work,_ ” he complained while Stiles snickered.

“At this point? It’s like ninety per cent caffeine dude.”

“And the other ten per cent?”

“Porn.”

“Naturally.”

\--------

Contrary to popular belief, they don’t have sex that night.

The party wound down and Derek and Stiles headed off to bed where they cuddled like a freaking married couple and fell asleep to _New Girl_ playing on the television in the bedroom.

Stiles stared at the ceiling contemplating this when he woke up, waiting for Derek to join him (it was a heartbeat thing – Stiles always woke up first and Derek would follow when his mind heard the change in Stiles’ heartbeat. It was both cute and annoying, ‘cuz Derek always woke up if Stiles’ needed to pee.)

“Stop thinking so loud,” Derek complained when he finally entered the waking world, snuggling his head into Stiles’ chest, “’s too early.”

“Have we become too emotionally connected for sex?” Stiles’ drops out and Derek raised his head lazily.

“Have you decided never to have sex again?”

“No,”

“Well neither have I so, no.”

“But we didn’t have sex last night.”

Derek frowns, his head swaying lightly – it was too early for Stiles to be using his unique kind of logic.

“So?”

“So, we fell asleep. We had permission and opportunity and supplies and stuff and instead we watched Zooey Deschanel be the weird quirky girl every hipster guy wants and we didn’t even make it to the end.”

“I don’t understand the problem here.”

“We’re a forty year old married couple. Forty year old married couples don’t have sex.”

Derek rolled, flattening Stiles against the best and wriggled until he was comfortably covering the younger man’s body entirely with his own.

“Does it feel like I don’t want to have sex?”

“Why must the first time I feel your cock be in response to an argument,” Stiles sighed dramatically, running his hands up Derek’s side and pulling them through Derek’s hair so that it stuck up in the wrong direction.

“The appropriate answer was ‘no’,” Derek muttered while his eyes sunk closed under the attention, ducking his head down under Stiles’ chin to kiss along his jaw.

“Ahhh but when have I ever been appropriate?” Stiles chuckled, tipping his head back so that Derek had easier access and spreading his legs a little wider.

“Right now, when you could be touching my dick but instead we’re continuing to argue,” Derek nipped at the patch of skin behind Stiles’ ear and the younger man gasped.

“I TOLD YOU WE’RE A FORTY YEAR OLD MARRIED COUPLE!”

“I don’t think forty year old married couples do what we’re doing,” Derek reassured, shifting to roll his hips into Stiles’ and earning a light purr before Stiles make a choking sound and Derek pulled back, concerned.

“Great now I’m picturing forty year olds doing what we’re doing. You killed my boner.”

“You sure?” Derek smirked, pushing a hand down between them, skating it under Stiles’ boxer briefs and making him go completely still.

“Oh my god,” Stiles’ groaned, melting into the bed.

“Definitely time for you to stop thinking,” Derek murmured as he leaned to the side, propping himself up on his forearm and giving Stiles a few firms strokes.

“Make me,” Stiles offered eloquently, earning a short laugh from Derek followed closely by a kiss. Stiles hummed into the kiss, pleased.

“You taste gross Mr. Morning breath,” he said in chipper voice and Derek snorted, leaning in again.

“So I was thinking,” Derek murmured as he pulled back a second time.

“You just said to stop doing that,” Stiles snarked and Derek gave a light squeeze for good measure just to watch Stiles squirm.

“I was thinking you should fuck me.”

Stiles sat up, forcing Derek to lean away, his hand slipping out of Stiles’ boxers. You could practically hear the scratch of the mood coming to a halt.

“Really, that’s how we’re starting?”

“Just hear me out with this.”

“I _told_ you,”

“It’s been over six months since you last accidentally Alpha ordered me Stiles, you’ve got a handle on it.”

“I’m not going to ri—“

“You won’t risk anything -- you’re just going to listen to me okay? That’s it. Do everything I say.”

“But…”

“I was talking to Erica,”

“You were talking to _Erica,”_

“And Isaac,”

“You spoke to _Isaac_ about our _sex lives?!_ He’s a _baby,_ ”

“And they told me some stuff. Way too much stuff if I’m being honest, but… it’ll work for us, okay? I know, I know you don’t want to risk taking over and you know… forcing me to do something, so we’ll do it a little differently. Just. Let me present my side of the argument.”

Stiles shuffled back a little, settling into the next of pillows with his arms crossed over his chest with Derek kneeling on the bed before him, hands raised with palms open, eyes earnest.

“Okay.”

“Okay. First things first. I _really, really_ _want you to fuck me_ ,” Stiles made a squeaking noise and Derek grinned, “and I know you do too. But as much as you would like it, it’s not really about you wanting it; it’s about _me_ wanting it. Secondly, I’m a werewolf.”

“Really? I had _no_ idea,”

“Let me finish. I’m a werewolf. I have a healing factor. It would be virtually painless for both parties,”

“Lydia helped too, didn’t she,”

“A little. But that’s not the point – the point is, painless. Thirdly,”

“How long is this list?”

“You said you’d let me present my side of the argument.”

“Sorry,” Stiles sunk a little into the pillows and waved a hand for Derek to continue.

“Thirdly, this is our first time together. We could do anything we wanted, anyway we wanted, but I’m asking, please, for us to do it like this because it’s your first time but it’s not mine and I want to pretend it is because this is the only first time that counts.”

Stiles’ eyes went a little wider, his eyebrows crinkling down just a little and Derek took a deep breath because this was either going to work or explode in his face.

“So… what do you say?”

“I… suddenly feel like there is a huge pressure for me to be good at this,” Stiles admits and Derek let his breath out, relaxing forward until his forehead was resting on Stiles’ shoulder.

“I can’t believe I just had to do that,” Derek mumbles as Stiles pulls him forward until he was collapsed on top of the younger man once more.

“Nobody will ever believe you if you say you had to set out a reasonable argument to get laid,” Stiles nodded and they both laughed, the whole bed shaking with the feel of it.

“Alright so… how do you… wanna start?” Stiles asked awkwardly when they’ve calmed down, a hint of the nerves he’d been so carefully repressing shining through.

“I figured we could wing it.”

“Really? You have a speech and notes and a list but for the actual act, it’s ‘wing it’?”

“Yup,” Derek grinned, leaning back, “and I thought I’d start,” he ran his hands down Stiles’ chest, playing with the waist of his boxer shorts, “with getting rid of these.”

“Excellent plan,” Stiles grinned, lifting his hips slightly to make removing the boxers easier on Derek.

Everyone always thought Stiles was the shy-with-his-body virgin. Thing was, none of the pack could understand where that thought pattern had come from. Stiles’ wasn’t shy about _anything_ ; he would regularly remove various bits of clothing in both 1) revenge against Derek who spent 90% of his life outside of work shirtless and 2) teasing Derek because _damn_.

So now that he was fully naked, no held bars? He stretched himself out on the bed, groaning as he did so.

“Like the view?”

“It’s not bad.”

“Not baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaooohhh,” Stiles gasped, biting his lip and struggling not to buck up when Derek sucked him down without any warning whatsoever. He pulled off with a smile that Stiles could _feel_ , kissing the cut tip lightly.

“So I can shut you up with my mouth, I’ve just been kissing the wrong area,” Derek teased, pressing a kiss to Stiles inner thigh.

“Silence really shouldn’t be your goal while doing that,” Stiles retorted and Derek laughed lightly, puffs of warm air making Stiles’ twitch.

“So does that mean… stop?” Derek asked, pulling away jokingly while Stiles scrambled to stop him.

“No, no,” Derek laughed again and Stiles punched his shoulder lightly.

“You’re not funny. Come ‘er,” Stiles wrapped a hand around the back of Derek’s neck, pulling him up for a kiss. His hands explored, pushing lightly on Derek’s boxer briefs.

“Why are these still on?” he muttered against Derek’s lips, pushing them down. Derek shimmed a little without actually moving, until they were down near his knees, kicking them off and across the room. Stiles’ grabbed a handful of Derek’s ass, mostly just because he could, pulling their hips together and earning mutual groans.

“Yeah, I can work with this,” Stiles offered with a grin while Derek rocked against him, wrapping a leg around Derek’s waist and digging his heel into Derek’s upper thigh. Stiles’ wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, just sliding against each other until they were sweaty and gasping, but it felt _amazing_. Almost just a little too amazing.

“Alight, alright. If you want this show to happen you need to get it on the road,” Stiles let out and Derek nipped lightly at his shoulder before reaching for the supplies that had been sitting, rather mockingly actually, on the side table for about a week and a half.

“How do you…”

“You can watch,” Derek said grinning before leaning back on his knees. He dropped a condom on the bed beside Stiles and made a show of covering his fingers with the lube.

“Have you been practicing this?” Stiles joked but Derek flushed red and Stiles pupils went a little wider at the mental image of Derek spreading himself open on his fingers all alone in his room.  

“You _have_ ,”

“Shut it,” Derek muttered, moving his hand around behind him and Stiles’ licked his lips, fumbling for the lube quickly. Squirting a little on his hand he wrapped it around Derek’s cock, curiously thumbing at the foreskin – Derek was uncut, where Stiles was, and he’d never experienced foreskin.

“Did you think of me?”

Derek’s eyes opened from where they’d been squeezed shut.

“Yeah,” he groaned, bracing himself on one arm beside Stiles’ head, his hand moving at a smooth, steady pace.

Stiles twisted his wrist, experimenting with the awkward angle, making Derek grunt, before thrusting up and pushing his own cock alongside Derek’s in his grip.

“How many?”

“Two,” Derek shut his eyes again, wincing a little, “three.”

“Hey, don’t rush it,” Stiles frowned, leaning up to pepper kisses over Derek’s face.

“Not. Eager,” he grinned, then groaned and fell forward for a second before catching himself.

“Good?” Stiles questioned, curious.

“Oh yeah,” Derek breathed, before pushing himself forward and clumsily catching Stiles’ lips. There was no grace or finesse, just a messy mashing of lips, but Stiles returned it as best he could. Smoothing his free hand down Derek’s side, he slid it up and over Derek’s hip until his hand bumped Derek’s. He traced around the rim, feeling at the stretch of Derek’s fingers pumping in and out, making the older man groan into his mouth before he pulled back unexpectedly.

“Condom, on, now, come on.”

Stiles pulled back, fumbling for the foiled square and tearing it open with his teeth.

“Uh oh.”

“What? What uh oh, don’t say uh oh,”

“I broke it. Tastes gross.”

“Get another one then!” Derek hissed, “and don’t use your teeth this time moron,”

“Don’t insult me, we’re having sex, you’ll ruin the mood,” Stiles chastised as he reached for the box, grabbing a line of foil packets, just in case.

“Knowing you? Insulting you will get you in the mood.”

“Aw, sweetie, you know me so well,” Stiles snarked in return, making a show of ripping the second packet with his hands. He slowly rolled the condom slowly down over himself before popping the lube and smoothing some over his cock.

“Ready?”

“We’re doing it like this?”

Derek grinned down at Stiles, moving until he was comfortably straddling the younger man.

“Unless you object?”

“Nah, nah, I’m good.”

“Good,” Derek reached down, carefully guiding Stiles’ cock to his hole.

“Holy shit,” Stiles hissed as Derek slowly sunk down, inch by inch.

They both just sat for a moment to adjust when Derek was settled neatly on Stiles’ lap, Derek’s hands kneading at the pillow on either side of Stiles’ head.

“You gonna move?” Derek asked after a minute.

“Am I allowed?”

“Fuck, yes, what the hell.”

“I was waiting for permission!”

Whatever Derek was going to retort with, no doubt sarcastic and scathing, was lost when Stiles rolled his hips upward.

They worked at it, Stiles thrusting up while Derek pushed down, sorting out a rhythm in the slow pace, working out the best time to rotate their hips in slow circles or which direction earned the best noise. They didn’t talk much except in broken words of encouragement, or change, until they were both breathing hard and covered in a thin shine of sweat and settled in a steady give and take, with Stiles keeping a hand wrapped firmly around Derek’s cock as it bobbed with every thrust. Derek’s thighs shook as he held himself up, muscles in his arms twitching.

Stiles’ other hand slipped when it tried to grab the back of Derek’s neck to pull him in for a kiss, so he dug his nails into Derek’s shoulder, earning a particularly loud moan.

“Like that?”

“Won’t last,” Derek grunted out as Stiles dragged his nails down Derek’s arm, the red marks already fading away.

“Looks good,” Stiles all but mused between breathy gasps, “like marking you. People don’t get to see it, like when you gimme hickies.”  

Derek whimpered.

“Come on, ‘m close. Harder.”

Stiles laughed breathlessly and planted his feet flat on the mattress for leverage, moving his hands onto Derek’s hips, thrusting up solidly. Derek rode the wave with a loud ‘fuck!’ meeting the thrust with a solid slap of skin.

“Yeah, yeah, perfect,” Derek got out, moving one of his hands to the headboard, the other wrapping around his cock and stoking unevenly.

“Fuck you feel amazing,” Stiles moaned, digging his head into the pillow as he thrust up.

“Not long,” Derek warned, the rhythm starting to break and become uneven and Stiles sped up, watching Derek’s face as his gasped, as if surprised, and came over Stiles’ stomach. He rode through two more upward thrusts before collapsing forward into the mess, rotating his hips down.

“Come on,” he slurred, and Stiles groaned, finishing himself off with a couple of quick, short thrusts.

They both breathed heavily as they came down from their individual highs and Stiles pulled out slowly while Derek hissed. He carefully peeled off the condom while Derek collapsed onto the bed next to him, tying the end and dropping it over the edge of the bed into the bin nearby.

“So,” he said quietly while they stared up at the ceiling, “I think we should begin every morning like that.”

Derek snorted and started to laugh, making Stiles join him.

“Should probably brush our teeth first,” Derek mused, tipping his head to the side to look at Stiles, who felt his eyes and turned as well.

“Mmm. Minty fresh? Clean. OH! Shower sex,” Stiles said suddenly, his eyes lighting up.

“Already? Really?”

“Not yet but… think of it like a challenge.”

Derek rolled his eyes, reaching a lazy hand over to Stiles’ chest and smearing the mess there into his skin.

“Are you seriously rubbing your come into my skin?” Stiles asked with a touch of amusement, but did nothing to stop Derek’s actions.

“You smell good like this.”

Stiles smiled affectionately at Derek until he pulled his hand away, satisfied.

“You’re creepy and weird but I like you anyway,” he said and Derek grinned.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re a bit of an asshole. But I like you anyway,” Derek offered after a minute and Stile chuckled.

“Good to hear it.”

“No problem.”

“So… shower? Join me?”

Derek sat up, grabbing hold of Stiles’ hand and slowly pulling him from the bed.

“Yeah, I definitely think we need to shower.”

\-------------

Isaac was pleased about the lack of desperate longing scent in the apartment for all of a second before the scent of sex and affection smacked into him.

He spent the next hour complaining that he could never enter the kitchen or bathroom again now that they’d defiled them.

\-----------

After Stiles’ turned 18, Derek and Stiles’ rarely spent a night apart. But that didn’t mean that Stiles was always at Derek’s. It wasn’t uncommon for there to be two uniformed officers sitting at the kitchen table in the Stilinski household, sometimes trying to talk in a newly developed code about cases that Stiles was never allowed to know about.

This morning, however, there was only light bickering over baseball scores, reminders about school events and police bake sales and who was cooking what for dinner during the week. All three heads snapped up as a bell near the front door jingled.

“What…” Derek started but Stiles shot out of his seat, running towards it with a shout of ‘maaaaiiilllll!’

“Your boyfriend is a toddler,” the Sheriff muttered, reaching for his coffee cup.

“Your son is a toddler,” Derek retorted maturely as Stiles slow footsteps could be heard returning.

“Did you put a bell on the mail slot?” Stiles’ father asked as he rounded the corner, flicking through the envelopes.

“Uh hu,” Stiles said inattentively, turning one of the envelopes over to read the back.

“Oh!” he squeaked, throwing all the other letters on the table when he found the one he was searching for, ripping open the top.

“Stiles,” his dad chastised as he gathered the mail back up, shaking his head as he began sorting it himself. Derek sighed and edged forward, trying to read what was on the paper. But he didn’t have too.

“I got in.”

Derek frowned while Stiles stared at the paper in his hands. He subtly scented the air for Stiles emotions but they were too muddled.

“Got into what?”

“Berkeley. Early Admissions. I got in.”

“You… you applied?”

“I didn’t think…”

Derek pulled the paper from Stiles hands while the younger fell into his chair.

“This is good, right?” Derek tried cautiously, eyes darting from Stiles to the Sheriff, who shrugged – Stiles was decidedly… not excited.

“Amazing. Unbelievable,” Stiles said, his voice coming out hysterical, “I even got a scholarship!”

“Why aren’t you happy about this?”

“I am!”

“Really because you look like you’re having a heart attack,” his dad offered helpfully and Stiles dropped his forehead to the table.

“I’m processing!”

Derek and the Sheriff looked at each other for a minute.

“He doesn’t even react like this when we have sex.”

The Sheriff frowned, closed his eyes for a second and then sighed.

“I’m glad you’re chatting more son, but you’ve been hanging around Stiles for too long.”

Derek shrugged and went back to eating his food while the Sheriff continued to sort the mail.

“Kiddo, there’s more mail here for you,” his Dad pipped after a minute, sliding it under Stiles’ forehead where it rested against the table. After a minute he lifted his head slightly, glancing at it.

“Hey, it’s from Grandma!”

“Only a month late on the birthday card this year,” the Sheriff nodded.

“Better than last year,” Derek shrugged as Stiles tore the envelope open.

“Ah, shi—“ Stiles started, and Derek’s head snapped over at the scent of blood, catching sight of the paper cut just seconds before the paper burst into flames. Stiles fell backwards with a shout, the whole chair tipping over while Derek and the Sheriff jumped to their feet. Derek moved to Stiles’ side, grabbing his hand to move him away from the curling flames on the table. Electricity bolted through his body, sending him crashing to the floor. The world was black for a moment before it sparked back into life, making him groan.

“Up we go, come on,” the Sheriff was say, pulling Derek into a sitting position. Stiles had scrambled away, his back pressed against the kitchen wall and Derek had a terrible flash back to himself from a year and a half ago.

“Stiles?” he croaked, looking between his boyfriend who was curled in the corner to the Sheriff who was glancing between his son and the burnt remains of the letter on the table.

“What the _hell_ is going on?!” Stiles shouted, his hands stuffed under his armpits like it was too dangerous to do anything else with them, the smell of his panic, fear and confusion filling the air and making Derek dizzy. The Sheriff reached to grab the paper from the table.

“No don’t tou—“ but he’d already picked it up.

Nothing happened.

“Wha…”

“I think,” the Sheriff said cautiously, “that it’s time to call your grandmother.”

Derek tilted his head, trying to see the note, but was only able to make out three words printed against the remains of the charred paper.

_Be the spark._

_**Fin.**  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this! I've been working like crazy. 
> 
> Anyway.... sequel?
> 
> I had a request from someone to make a podfic of this fic -- to that I say, now that the epilogue is up, go right ahead! If you'd like to make a podfic I'd love to listen too it :)

**Author's Note:**

> [This](http://www.captainnaustralia.tumblr.com) is my Tumblr  
> [This](http://www.intergalacticju.tumblr.com) is Ju's Tumblr  
> [This](http://www.pacificrimmers.tumblr.com) is Lana's Tumblr

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] I Love To Be The Underdog](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1365388) by [aaeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaeth/pseuds/aaeth)




End file.
